


Heart of The North

by Attaining



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry!Robb Stark, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow/Robb Stark (implied), Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow/Robb Stark/Sansa Stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: Theon's plan to lead the Bolton hunting party away from Sansa works. Theon is found barely alive in the Winterfell dungeons after the Battle of the Bastards. Meanwhile, Brienne of Tarth finds Robb Stark alive in Riverrun, resurrected by a Red Priest.Robb goes home, never expecting to see Theon there.Warning for past emotional, physical and sexual violence, torture, Ramsay Bolton, etc.





	1. Justice

**Author's Note:**

> This started as two separate fic ideas and they joined their powers together to create I am not sure what yet. I really don't know where this is going, but it probably involves Theon and a trio of Starks. Robb/Theon was the original intent. 
> 
> Theon's torture 2.0 was not any less gruesome than round 1, so there's some identity confusion happening. Robb's not doing much better mentally than Theon, so naturally this reunion should go over really well! Unbeta'd.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :) I never know what to title my fics.

_ Every part of her body shook from the cold and she could scarcely breathe, the cloth of her cloak and dress already freezing stiff. The warmth from Theon’s body had already faded into the winter air as she heard him treat with the Bolton hunting party. He had asked for her kerchief, to drop in the snow. Maybe it would be enough.  _

_ “Liar,” she heard the scathing voice of some wretch that must be wearing Bolton colors.  _

_ “She… she left me behind. I was too slow, my foot…” Theon’s shaking voice. The dogs sounded and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, waiting for them to find her. But nothing happened. _

_ “A woman’s cloth. She was here.” _

_ “Ramsay wants you back almost as much as the woman. I can’t wait to see what parts he cuts off you this time.” She heard a sickening crack and something heavy hitting snow. “Take Ramsay’s pet back to the castle. We’ll keep searching for Lady Bolton.”  _

_ Sansa prayed to the Seven that Ramsay would kill him quickly, though she knew better. When the hunting party stayed, circling the area, she saw her death before her eyes.  _ I won’t go back. _ Then, she heard a battle cry, a horse trampling through snow, and she was saved.  _

\-------------------

Robb was in the arms of his half-brother and sister before a word could be said. Jon. Sansa. He never thought he’d see either again. And now it was not he, but Jon, who was King in The North. He was not at the wall honoring his oath, because his brothers in black betrayed him. He knew something of that himself. Let Jon carry the burden if he wants it. Robb had already died a King once; brought back by a Red Priest and walking through a dream in Riverrun until Brienne of Tarth told him she fought for the Ladies Sansa and Arya both. She whisked him away on the word of the Blackfish. 

“Rickon is alive,” Jon said slowly, pulling him back to reality. “He’s recovering from a stay with the Boltons. Let him sleep for now, then we’ll wake him.”

A lightness he had not felt in years spread in his chest. “And Bran?”

“We don’t know,” Sansa replied, her red hair almost too bright in the sun. She added quickly, “But it wasn’t Theon. He never--” 

_ Not that name.  _ Robb put up his hand, face hardened. “I don’t want to hear of dead traitors.” 

Jon and Sansa shared look between them, and Robb felt his blood run cold. “Don’t tell me, of all people to live...”

“Robb,” Sansa started. He watched her warily, wondering how any of this was real. Maybe it wasn’t. Why would Sansa, of all people, defend Theon? They hardly knew each other.  _ He _ didn’t even know Theon. “You need to know what happened.”

And she told him of House Bolton and its dead bastard, Ramsay. She told him how Lord Baelish sold her to the Boltons and she endured weeks of torture at Ramsay’s hands. (He had asked why Lord Baelish was not beheaded; she had pointed out that it was he who brought the Knights of Vale to ride for her. He then asked himself, _where in seven hells was I?_ ) She told him how she met Theon there, that Theon had been tortured since Winterfell was taken by the Bolton Bastard. It was Ramsay that burned it down, killed Maester Luwin and the rest. (Except Ser Rodrik, whom Theon beheaded.  _ Just listen _ , she snapped back and Robb wondered when his sister had become so grown. He saw his mother in her.) She told him that it was Theon who killed the woman who tried to feather her with a bow; that it was with Theon she jumped from the ramparts; and that it was Theon who led the Boltons away from her, only to be brought back to Ramsay while Sansa herself was saved by Brienne. 

“I know that you’re angry with him,” Sansa finished. “But you cannot kill him. Once you see him… you won’t have the heart to.” 

He looked to Jon, demanding his side. His half-brother sighed deep and long, the way he always remembered. “She told the same thing to me. And when I saw him, I agreed. He’s been punished enough.” 

Jon gave him that look, the one he’d mastered by the time he was five, when he knew better than all the other boys what was right and what was folly.  _ He’s still our family,  _ the look said. 

It wasn’t enough to quell his blood. Theon’s betrayal. Then his mother. Then Karstark.  _ And my own foolish desires. _ He’d spent years trapped in waking nightmares, unable to face blood and battle, every night to watch his wife and child die, his mother die, his men die. And where was Theon? His brother. Now and always. The throbbing in his head did not lessen his temper. Or his self-hatred. “Where is he?”

Sansa led him through the halls to a room he remembered as her own. “You gave him your room?”

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Robb,” she said with a sad smile. He wished he could return it, but he didn’t smile much these days. Sansa took a breath, her eyes bright. He and Sansa always had their mother’s eyes.  “Theon… isn’t the same as before. He gets things confused. Just… try not to scare him?”

He looked at her like she was mad. Theon... Afraid? The one so eager to ride into battle with him that he cared more for songs and glory than the 2000 men slain. The easy smile. The braggart’s heart.

Sansa asked the guards to open the door for them.  _ At least he’s under guard. _ As they entered, the room was darker than he expected. A fire was lit, but the windows were all shuttered. 

“Theon,” Sansa called lightly but firmly, entering slowly and looking around as if she might startle a wild animal. He did not understand the emphasis she seemed to add to his name. “I brought someone to see you.”

A small voice from the other side of the bed said, “Reek, m’lady, it’s not safe to say that name.” 

Robb’s heart squeezed at the sound of his voice. Theon. Sansa frowned, but waited. He heard shuffling and slowly Theon stood and limped toward them with a crutch beneath his arm, his eyes downcast. His hair was long and unkempt. His clothes hung off of him, he was so thin. With no shoes, Robb could see the missing toes, the broken foot set by the maester. He swallowed. 

“ _ Theon _ ,” Sansa said again, as if this were normal between them. “Look at us.” 

He flinched when she said his name, but slowly and with great effort, he lifted his head and stared at them both. At first, he just looked obediently at Sansa before she gestured toward Robb. Something made his stomach drop in the way that Theon looked at him. His eyes were no longer light and planning mischief. It hardly looked like life at all. But then Theon was crying. Crying and… laughing?

Robb glanced at Sansa, who only looked concerned. 

The crutch clattered against the ground as Theon fell to his knees, hysterical between tittering and great sobs. Theon cried, “You came, you came. You finally came.” 

“...I did,” he offered, uncertain. 

Theon kneeled before him, offering his neck. He smiled up at Robb through wet eyes. 

Robb peered at the dark gaps between his teeth, his smile more a grimace than anything. “Your Grace, Robb, King Robb, you came, you came to take my head.”

He felt his words as a punch to the stomach. Who was this person before him? It couldn’t be Theon. Theon was an ass, always japing, always trying to get everyone’s attention. His smile had all the girls in the household smitten. He looked like something from one of Old Nan’s tales.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” Theon continued, shaking his head. His shoulders shook and he seemed like a guilty child. “Kill me quick. Please, I know I don’t deserve it, but please do it anyway? Before I wake and he’s back and you’re dead.” 

Sansa was right. He couldn’t do it. His anger melted into pity. Robb dropped to his knees and placed a kiss on Theon’s bowed head. Tears were already falling down his face. “What did you do, you stupid fool?”

Theon only sobbed harder, grabbing onto Robb’s arms as if he didn’t expect him to really be there. And when his hands touched solid arms, he froze, following them up to Robb’s face. “Robb?”

“Aye, it’s me,” he confirmed, weariness in his voice. “I’m not here to kill you.” 

“It’s really him,” Sansa added, before Theon had the chance to ask. “You’re not dreaming. He was brought back to life, the way Jon was.”

Suddenly Theon was clawing at Robb's jerkin, looking for evidence that this was true and not another nightmare. Before Robb could stop him, he’d pulled the collar of his high shirt down, the thick scarred wound that made its way all around his neck on display. Robb felt his heart stop. No one had seen. 

Theon was now looking at him with wide eyes. “I should have died with you.” 

“But you didn’t,” Robb muttered, taking Theon’s hands away and noticing for the first time that toes were not all that was missing. He felt bile rise in his throat. “ _ Why _ ?”

There was a change, then, a look that passed over his face and Theon was recoiling from him, dragging himself across the floor to the wall, where he hid his face. “It’s a trick. It’s a trick. He won’t kill you. Not ever. Robb would take my head for what I did. It’s a trick.” 

Robb watched helplessly as the question that plagued him from years died in the air. Theon was no longer looking at them, just rocking himself and muttering the word “reek.” Sansa’s gentle hand fell on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry. He forgets that Ramsay’s dead,” Sansa said with something like sadness or resignation to the world. “With everything happening, I’ve hardly gotten to spend any time with him. Maester Wolkan isn’t sure if he’s finally gone mad or if his head wound is the problem. When Ramsay recaptured him…” 

“Why ‘reek’?” he found himself asking. He never met Ramsay, but he saw Roose Bolton’s eyes. Dirty ice. Malice and arrogance. He cursed the gods for not letting him kill them both with his own hands.

“That’s what Ramsay called him. He slept in the kennels with the dogs. He used to smell worse, before I insisted he bathe. And that’s a fight every time.”

Theon disappeared behind the bed again, going quiet. He remembered Theon soaking naked in the hot springs with he and Jon. Theon always lingered in the water, showing off and thinking of far away islands. Robb had spent so much time wondering what was real and a dream since… since his death. He knew the truth of it. Madness was easier to face than the truth. 

Sansa sighed as she plucked a small vial from a table nearby. She sounded like their mother when he was a stubborn child and would not rest away his fever. “ _ Theon.  _ Reek. Come here.”

“Sorry, m’lady,” he said quietly before he hobbled in front of her again, his gaze somewhere to the left of her feet. Sansa handed the vial out to him and he took it with a shaking hand. It missed two fingers. He held it awkwardly, looking torn. 

“It’s milk of the poppy. Maester Wolkan left it for you. You’re in pain.” 

He shuddered at her words. “T-the Master wouldn’t like it.”

Sansa’s will was undeterred. She only looked at him.

“Please,” Theon pleaded. “He’ll take another finger if I do it. It only hurts because I was bad. I don’t need it. I don’t.” 

_ Master. _ Robb was going to be sick. He felt his feet stepping back, making for an escape. He couldn’t stand any more of this farce, this craven old man with Theon’s voice. It was easier to hate him, want him dead. He left them, Theon’s gaze burning on the back of his neck. 


	2. Kings

_Osha grunted as she fell to the ground of the dungeon cell._

_“Be a good wildling bitch and they might fetch you a bath,” a guard sneered and slammed the door shut. She stood, looking for any way out. Rickon, she could hear him from elsewhere in the dungeons. The flayed man, whoever the lord of this place was this time. She felt around, trying to find a weakness in the door, anything to escape._

_A sudden smell hit her hard, like nightsoil and rot. Even for a dungeon it stunk something awful. She turned and peered through the bars of the cell into the next one over. A body was on the ground, naked, skin peeled off part of the leg._

_"Poor man,” she muttered to no one._

_“Not a man,” the corpse replied and she jumped despite herself. She’d find a way to off herself in this cell before one of those things turned her way. But it didn’t move and she wondered if she’d been gone too long in the wilderness, started hearing things. She looked closer and recognized the face under the dirt and hair._

_“So this is what became of you, Prince of Winterfell,” she snarled in distaste. This one started the whole backward journey up north._

_“Not a prince. Ghost, dog, creature,” Theon Greyjoy rattled off, voice cracked and a whisper. For a moment, she felt pity for him. Must’ve gone mad in the dungeons._

_“You know which lord has this place now?” she asked, going back to searching for a way out._

_“Lord Ramsay.”_

_“Oh yeah? What’s he gonna do to me? To the little lord you ran out into the cold?”_

_There was silence for a moment, wounded sounds coming from the cell next to hers, sniffling. “Kill you. You can’t trick him like you tricked Theon Greyjoy. He knows everything. He’ll kill you both.”_

_Osha swallowed. “How do I escape?”_

_“There is no escape.” A beat, then. “I’m sorry.”_

_She listened to the man she once fucked sob into the filth he laid in, muttering apologies to this and that in the dark. Panic started to rise in her; he wasn’t helping. She clutched the bars, rattling them. “If you’re so sorry, then tell me a way out of here your Lord won’t know.”_

_He flinched and shuddered at the sound, trying to push himself away, hiding his head under his arms. “He’ll punish me. I’ll tell him. I can’t lie.”_

_“Then be quick about it.”_

\-------

He stared out over the ramparts at the North, wishing he could see Rickon, but unable to bring himself to wake him. He'd been but a boy following after his legs last Robb had seen him. He was closer a man than a boy now. He watched the wind drive debris over the endless white. Robb heard footsteps approaching him. It sounded like treason in every step. Littlefinger came within twenty paces of him before Robb growled out, "Another step and you'll find why they called me the Young Wolf."

" _Lord_ Stark," Lord Baelish began.

Robb's look could freeze the hardest Northerner, but he made no move toward the man. Instead, he drawled, "Go on. Finish that thought."

Littlefinger paused before a snake-like smile appeared on his face. He nodded curtly at Robb and disappeared. Despite Sansa's request that no harm come to the man, Robb did not believe he would leave the North alive.

He almost jumped when something heavy landed on his shoulders.

“You’ve been in the Riverlands too long, Stark,” Jon chided. Robb adjusted the thick furs Jon had placed on him, looking him over.

“I was right, though,” Robb started. Jon's furs weren't the limp things the Night's Watch scraped together. These were the finest in the North. “Next time I saw you, you’d be in black.”

Jon ducked his head with a small smile and sigh. “Still is my color, I suppose.”

“Betrayed. Come back from the dead. Now King in the North,” he observed. “You don’t want to copy me, Jon Snow.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have much say in it.” Jon looked the part now. He’d filled out, walked with a confidence Robb had never seen on him in Winterfell. He even had a roguish scar down his eye. Jon came back from the dead ready to save the North; Robb came back wishing he hadn't.  “...There was nothing. No other place, no gods or monsters or family. Just nothing.”

“Most folk don’t get the chance to be bothered by it,” Robb surmised, rubbing his face with his hand, trying not to think. _Crawling to her, slipping and dragging himself through endless red. Then a river bank in the dark, ice in his veins, lungs gasping for air, strangers in the night._ Some god he never worshipped had plans for him, so they said. “We never should’ve left Winterfell. None of us.”

Robb thought to hear Jon say,  I had to go. I couldn’t stay. Not as a Snow.  But Jon gave a solemn nod. 

"I told Sansa the same thing. But aye, we left. We couldn't stay sweet summer children forever. You don't have to thrash yours-"

“I don’t want to hear you say it.”

“You’re not the first to lead men to battle and see them die. It wasn’t all your fault, the war.”

“It bloody well was and we both know it. I called the bannermen and rode south. Father was careless, but I was… reckless. A fool. I lost the North and half of you with it. Look what happened to Rickon and Sansa. All for honor and a woman.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. She wasn’t just a woman. He loved her, truly, no matter how folly it had been. The child she carried, his heir, his son. Robb could have love or duty, but never the both. He'd been raised to be Lord of Winterfell. His father taught him everything he knew of honor, but she was the only piece of it all he had ever wanted. He traded the North for her and sealed his fate by striking off Karstark's head, the honorable thing to do. Over killing Lannisters. Honor may have made him a great warrior, but it made him a shit king.  

“If you’re guilty, then so am I. I stayed at the Wall.”

“You swore an oath.”

“Aye, I chose brothers in black over the ones I was raised with.” Jon rested his hands on the ramparts, shaking his head. “What a pair of kings we make.”

“I’m no king. Not now,” Robb sighed. “It’s not a burden you should have to bear.”

“They’re coming, Robb. I’ve seen them. It’s no tall tale to scare children. None of it matters. None of it will matter when the dead come. We’ll all be fighting for our lives.”

Jon looked so serious as he talked about the walkers. Robb couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from his chest, some dark thing bubbling out at the madness of it all. Jon gave him a queer look, but the more Robb cackled, the more Jon was brought into it, too. There they stood, laughing together. “We’re ones to talk about dead men walking.”

Robb clasped a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon returned the gesture. He missed this, Jon at his side. “So we’ll fight them, together. Death is less terrifying the second time around.”

It was true, he didn’t care for this second life, or whatever it was. He would keep it or lose it. But he could no longer lead. He couldn’t trust others, let alone himself. He couldn’t stop the waking terrors every time someone recognized him. No one had ever told him the battles were the easy part. At least there was no shame in a war against corpses. No politics, either.

“Together it is.” Jon’s dark eyes stayed on his, intense as they ever were. If he didn’t know better, he thought Jon might cry. “I missed you.”

There had always been something between them, something cut short when Jon left for the wall. His couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded firmly in reply, squeezing Jon’s shoulder, the way he did when they were boys and Robb won against him with wooden practice swords and Jon tried not to show his hurt.

They stood together a while longer, letting the silence grow comfortable as they looked over the North, the woods they’d hunted in, learned to ride in. Jon glanced at him. “Did you kill him?”

He slowly shook his head, dismissing Theon’s pleading voice. What he had seen of Theon he didn’t recognize. “His fate was more cruel than what I would’ve done.”

“Could you have done it? Truly?” He was irritated Jon would ask such an irrelevant question, but this wasn’t the King talking, this was the fourteen-year-old boy who followed he and Theon everywhere. The one who hated Theon for his crude manner. The one who secretly learned the bow from him and thought no one knew. Could he have slain Theon, if he knew the truth of Bran and Rickon? He didn’t slay his mother for freeing the Kingslayer. But his mother hadn’t murdered children.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “He killed children. Boys.”

“I hung a boy, no older than Bran,” Jon murmured, bringing a hand to his chest. His grey eyes were unreadable. “The free folk killed his family. I let them into our lands. So he killed me, and I killed him back. His name was Olly. I had made him my steward.”

“You still wept for him, didn’t you?” Robb asked, already knowing. Jon was more sensitive than he would ever let on. Like Theon, the real Theon, not the one he showed off for the Northerners.

_Now and always._

“I’m not a boy anymore,” Jon defended. Just as sullen as always. “The fight never stops. Since I left, it’s one battle after another. Don’t remember the last time I cried as we did when we were little.”

Robb was a man as grown as any. He woke crying every night, if he slept at all. Robb scoffed, "I don't believe you."

“Believe what you like, Stark.” But it lacked any bite and he felt the warmth behind it. 

“I wouldn’t have done it. I would’ve tried but I would look him in the face and I’d fail,” he admitted. His brother, Theon. “You didn’t kill him either.”

Jon shrugged, the wind sending a few fallen curls flying around his face. “Sansa wouldn’t have it. He saved her from Bolton.”

“Since when have you ever listened to Sansa? She was awful to you,” he laughed. And Jon did, too. 

“Aye, but I was always asking for it, sulking around the place. She’s changed. We all have.”

Robb turned serious again. His stomach churned and tightened, an animal’s reaction to a coming threat. “Do you think he’s mad? Is killing him a mercy?”

“I can’t answer that. If he’ll come around for anyone, it’s you.”

Jon’s gloved hands felt warm over Robb’s ears as he bent him forward to place a kiss on his forehead. Quiet and sullen, he walked away, leaving Robb to the howling wind. The warmth lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like the thank the Lord of Light for an easy plot device I hope to abuse forever in this fandom. XD; Much less drama this round. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb tries talking to Theon again, but Theon isn't the only one with issues.

As the guards opened the door to Theon’s room for him, he was immediately assaulted by a rather crass woman’s voice. “You ain’t got nothing I haven’t done seen and touched before!”

Theon was uncomfortably seated in a chair, clutching his tunic to his chest as a wild looking woman fought him over it. A steaming bowl of water sat on the table next him, along with clean linen, salves, and potions. Theon was crying again, his bandaged hands trying and failing to hold onto his clothing. “Please!” 

“What is this?” Robb asked, surprised by the tone of authority in his voice. Maybe it was being home that woke him. The woman turned to him, irritation on her face. Her hair was bushy and wild, her eyes hard. It was the wildling woman that attacked Bran all those years ago. Asha? Osha. 

“Thought you was dead.” Theon took advantage of her distraction to hastily pull his tunic down and was trying to slip from his seat. Osha took him by the shoulders and pushed him right back down. “Oh no you don’t, Prince of Winterfell. You already scared off three maids tryin’ to change your bandages and keep you clean. Now I got stuck with the job while the little lord is resting. Off with them, go on.” 

“Please,” Theon pleaded with her. “It’s better like this. Better. Not a Prince, m’lady, please.” 

“No one wants to smell you rot,” she chided, not having any of it. Robb was too startled by this ridiculous sight to move. “And I ain’t no lady neither. If they’re not on the ground in the next breath, I’m going to march up to that Lady Sansa and tell ‘er to do it.” 

A childlike whine came from Theon and he lowered his hands, letting her help him out of his tunic. She aided him to stand with his broken foot while he fumbled with the laces, hands too clumsy to do more than pull one string half loose. Not baulking, she had his laces undone in a heartbeat, his breeches falling down to the floor with nothing to support them. 

Robb realized he wasn’t breathing, his eyes wide at Theon’s body. Thin, too thin. His chest was a mess of scars, a strange looking bandage over half his chest, his other nipple shorn plain off. Nausea hit him as he noticed the Bolton cross in raised patches. His eyes then fell lower, to where Theon always had the advantage over both he and Jon. But no longer. He grabbed the nearest thing he could find to support himself. “By the seven…”

Theon glanced up, noticing him for the first time before trying to hide himself. He stared hard at the floor. 

“You never seen one go missin’ before?” Osha asked, gesturing crudely at Theon’s… at the place where his manhood should be. “A man’s cock can freeze right off he ain’t careful up north. Or gets it bitten off, he don’t treat her right. Isn’t nothing to go get sick over, even if it was the only thing he knew how to use right around here.”

“Watch your tongue,” Robb growled out at her. Osha didn’t seem much to care what he thought. She had been with Bran and Rickon, cared for them all these years. (He tried not to think about where Bran might be, whether he was alive.) She seemed to be unfazed by the Stark temper. Theon didn’t even react, just sat obediently, turned slightly to hide himself from Robb. His vision seemed to narrow as rage rose up like the wolves of his House. “Get out. I’ll do it.”

Osha raised a brow, but nodded and took her leave, glancing over her shoulder with interest. “A lord like you should be able to read. Maester Wolkan left a scroll there for the treatment. Wasn’t no good to me.”

“Fine,” he snapped and moved toward Theon. He seem lost in his own world.

“Don’t listen to that one, he’s been hiding food, not cleaning his wounds.”

He saw a flash of the old Theon as he raised his head to glare at Osha for telling on him. No, not the Theon he went to battle with. The stubborn little boy who got caught taking sweets from the kitchen. But it had been Robb who had done it and Theon took the blame. Robb never took anything without asking from the kitchen again. Osha looked smug on her way out. 

He closed his eyes and took a breath to calm himself. 

“Sorry, milord. Your Grace,” Theon said quietly. Robb caught him looking up through his hair, head still bowed. 

He couldn’t bring himself to speak to what he had trouble believing was Theon Greyjoy. The last he had seen him had been the morning he rode for Pyke. His mother scolded him for trusting a Greyjoy, even one raised among wolves. He remembered Theon’s confident smirk, tawny hair blowing in the wind, dressed in his finest with a kraken on his breast. He had looked so proud to be going home a proven warrior. Theon took nothing of the war seriously, only the weary way he looked over Robb when someone spoke against him, always hovering at his side, wordlessly refilling his drink, prodding him to eat, to sleep. He japed and drank through it all, drunk on glory after every battle, supporting the harshest and most direct offenses.  _ If they could see me now, he’d laughed as he wiped blood from his cheek after a battle won.  _ But he always deferred to Robb. He thought bitterly, _ it’s a surprise he held back suggesting going to Pyke as long as he did. _

_ “I’ll lead back my father’s ships and we’ll get blood for blood for your father.” It was hard to doubt him when he looked so confident, his blue eyes alight with hope, with pride.  _

He swallowed, realizing he wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding Theon’s wrist in his hand, but it must have been too long because Theon stared at him with confused terror. Robb returned to the task, the scroll laid out. He unwrapped the old bandages, uncertain of what had been done. The hand lacked two fingers, one scarred ugly pink and white, another still scabbed and healing. Further beneath, the palm was swollen and bruised, a dark hole through the middle of it. He found four fingers and the same wound to the palm on the other hand.  _ Hands: nailed to cross - cleanse with fresh water, apply salve, rewrap with clean linen.  _

They had worked in silence while Robb carefully cleaned his hands. He tried to be gentle, but Theon’s hands twitched and cringed as he jarred each one. Theon made unconscious, small groans and began to shake. Gooseflesh appeared on his scarred arms. Robb looked over the list.  _ Left chest: flayed - do not remove fish skin, but cleanse with clean water. Left leg: flayed - cleanse with water. Cleanse between legs. Watch for change to the swell.  _ He pushed aside thoughts of healers and war and a romance that murdered them all. 

“I’ll be quick about it,” he murmured, dripping warm water over his chest, fascinated by the pattern of the fish skin over Theon’s own peeled flesh. Theon would have appreciated it once.  _ You’ve never seen the sea, Stark. Creatures Northerners like you could never imagine, big as castles.  _ Theon never shied away, only gasped or flinched, and he did not complain.  _ “There’s never going to be a cunt like that in our kitchens again. Who had to go tell her bloody mother someone took her maidenhead?”  _ It had been Robb; she’d been one of the most naive ones and he’d told Theon not to bother her. He hadn’t listened. Part of him wanted to teach Theon a lesson in honor. The other part didn’t want to watch him staring after her that way. Naive. Naive and pretty. 

He finished washing Theon’s wounded leg and he found himself eye to eye with scarred flesh where his prick should be. Robb unconsciously adjusted his position, acutely aware of his own groin. Bolton made a eunuch of him. Another reason he wished he could have killed the Boltons with his own hand. Robb wasn’t sure how to approach this. The last time Robb had been in this position, it had been in a tent with his bannermen pacing about outside. Any one of them could have interrupted and that’s why Theon’s fingers were buried tight in his curls. Robb didn’t want to hear the words “Your Grace” for an hour, so he got on his knees and called him Prince Theon. Theon was always there when Robb wanted to forget the words “duty” and “honor.” Until he wasn’t and look what had happened.

Then, Theon was reaching for the rag from Robb’s hand, trying to take over. “Please. I don’t… I can’t… please.”

He watched Theon soak his fresh bandages and he washed carefully, lightly, with all the focus Robb imagined he possessed. With a wince, Theon leaned forward to wash behind him, but he could not hide the pain. The rag returned specked with bright red blood. “It, it’s okay. It’s like this now. Maester Wolkan said. It’s fine.” 

“Theon.” 

But Theon only shook his head. “Reek, milord. Your Grace.” 

He stared into Theon’s blue eyes before they flicked to the floor. He used to imagine they resembled the ocean from which he came. Now they were small pools, darkened by mud. They rippled easily with new tears threatening to spill. He bore only a few small scars on his face, a thin curve under his eye. His hair was tangled and his skin was sallow and damp from sickness. His lower lip trembled and his body twitched in fear. This wasn’t Theon. This shivering wreck was a child, a frightened child looking for direction. Perhaps he really didn’t remember who he was. Sansa was quick to remind him. 

“You don’t have to call me that when we’re alone,” he said, a shadow of a smile for the memory of it. 

“It’s not so bad…” Theon sniffed. He slowly worked up the nerve to meet him eye to eye. He never thought Theon could look so lifeless. “Are you real?”

Robb didn’t have a true answer for that.  _ The Lord of Light has plans for you.  _ “I’m real. Real as you.”

Theon furrowed his brow, the way he did when he was thinking hard about something. “Am I real?” 

He put his hand on Theon’s shoulder. His skin was pale, cold, raised in the shape of a cross. Theon stared at him too hard before ducking his head. Robb couldn’t stand the sight any longer and helped him back into his loose linens. They draped off of his thin frame. Robb sighed out, “We’re both real. Both alive. Why? Why did you do it?” 

“Not me.” Theon shook his head fervently, desperation in the edge of his voice. “That was the turncloak and he’s dead.” 

“You’re the turncloak.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. He could no longer feel anger. He did not think he felt anything.  “You’re Theon Greyjoy, and you betrayed me. You took Winterfell. You murdered Ser Rodrik. You murdered  _ boys. _ ” 

“No, that’s him. Some other… some man. The Master found him. He got out and let his bride escape. The Master cut out the last of him.”  His whole body seemed to curl in on itself, his eyes like wet glass. “It wasn’t me who said it. Don’t hurt me, please. I remember my name. Reek.” 

Pushing aside his nausea, Robb grabbed him by his jaw and forced Theon to look him in the eye. “Theon Greyjoy. My brother, now and always. I’ve known you since you saw your first trees, your first bear, the snow. Since you set the whole household laughing when you asked for crab or clam.”

“For my nameday… Lord Eddard had crab sent to Winterfell. But it wasn’t crab. It was lobster and none of you knew the difference or how to eat it.” His voice was a whisper, but it was Theon’s. It wasn't long before they were both crying. “I forgot. I forget sometimes. I was born in the Dreadfort dungeon, he said. I have no brothers. Creatures don’t have families. They’re lucky to serve a Master as kind as Lord Ramsay.”

He thought of Theon strapped to a rack, spitting at Bolton’s face and cursing his parentage. How long had it taken to strip him of his fight? What had it taken to turn proud Theon Greyjoy into this shrinking wretch in front of him? Robb knew what it took to drive himself to madness. He had to know, before he lost his nerve to ask again. “ _ Why?” _

Theon dropped from the chair and sat on the ground before him. Robb sat back, the two of them on the fur lined floor. Theon pulled his knees close for comfort. “I didn’t go to betray you. My… my father made Yara, my sister, his heir. He thought… he thought I was a Stark. He burned your letter. He was already prepared to launch to war. He gave me a choice….”

“Take Winterfell or you’re a traitor to your family?”

He whimpered then, hiding his eyes from Robb’s gaze. Theon shook his head. “...To raid fishing villages.  _ I  _ chose to take Winterfell.” 

Robb let his face fall into his hands. Shards of ice fell into his chest. He rubbed his eyes, willing them to dry. Of course that’s what happened. Theon wanted to prove himself to his father. Winterfell was the heart of the North. His brothers were valuable hostages, but they escaped.  _ So he burned boys.  _ Robb had been following in his father’s own noble steps until a Bolton knife hit his heart.

“I chose wrong the moment I landed on Pyke. Everything I did, it went worse. I was  _ ironborn,  _ I wasn’t a Stark. I betrayed you. I killed… I killed those boys. I had gone too far. I wanted to die in battle but he wouldn’t let me. Yara… Yara tried to save me. But I was stupid and scared. I’m always scared. He’s always japing and I was too slow to see it. I wanted to be good, loyal. And I betrayed him, too. I stole his bride. And he asked, he asked me, if I loved him.” 

Robb could no longer stand the babbling, the confessions that poured from Theon without end.  _ “They were boys!” Karstark. The beheading. The choice to seek out the Freys. Talisa. Talisa’s gasping breaths. His mother’s desperate call. Cold in his chest. Everyone was screaming. Thousands of men. His sisters lost. Everything ended.  _ “Shut up. Stop. Theon. Just stop.”

He held his head in his hands, feeling dizzy, his head beginning to throb. He couldn’t stop the thoughts once they’d started. He tried to blink away the images of blood and spilled wine. He closed his eyes, but that made it worse, more vivid and it felt real again. Red leaked everywhere, soaked into everything. “Just shut up.” 

_ Fuck, fuck.  _ Terror clenched his heart; he would die if he stayed here. He couldn’t escape. Why? He couldn’t move; he was paralyzed. Glued to the damned spot on the floor across from his betrayer.  _ I’m dying again. I can’t breathe.  _

A steady noise began, but it was distorted, warped, far away. He couldn’t hear it over his gasping breaths, tears blurring his vision. Maybe it was his own screaming.  _ Throb, throb, throb. _ Annoying. Shut up. Of course that’s the bloody sound his head was making as his life slipped away,  _ again.  _ His chest hurt. It was going to be over soon.

Robb felt suddenly warm and something was secured around him, holding him here, grounding him. He leaned into the warmth. It was solid.

“Robb? Robb. Robb.” He thought he told Theon to shut up. But that was his problem wasn’t it? He once had a better use for that mouth. He was being rocked, gently, Robb realized. A soft sway. The red in his vision cleared and he was on the floor in Winterfell again. “Robb. You’re safe. You’re here. You’re safe now. It’s over, it’s over.”

It was Theon wrapped around him, rocking him. He rubbed his back in halting, light circles. It felt… well, he felt something. Exhaustion threatened to swallow the rest of him and Robb let his head sink further into the warm neck available to him. “Theon?” 

“Theon,” he said, pulling Robb tighter. “You have to remember your name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Robb has panic attacks. 
> 
> Sterile fish skin has been used to treat burns so I stretched that idea a bit. Osha didn't really get stuck caring for Theon; he helped her out so she's being nice. I mean, nice up to a point anyway. This fic lives in show Canon (sorry Jeynes), but I did borrow from book Theon a bit for Torture Reaction 2.0.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb struggles to forgive Theon and himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst, ya'll. So. Much. This fic is 2/3 tears. I can't even handle it and I'm writing it. Your kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Given all the other warnings, here is another one for internalized homophobia.

_ “You are either maddeningly brazen or brazenly mad,” Lord Tyrion observed as the ocean wind whipped through his hair.  _

_ Yara Greyjoy smirked into the sun. “Depends on the tides. Sansa Stark is keeping my brother alive, and even told me of it. There’s something about my brother that the Starks can’t let go. I get to drop off a few spies; we have more word in the greenlands. You get to convince the Starks to march south again under a foreign queen and I can ring my traitorous little brother’s neck. Now that we’ve rooted out Euron’s birds, there’s less risk of the fleet running into an ambush. You do still want my ships to take King’s Landing, don’t you?” _

_ “I’ve made my decision. You are neither; you’re merely insufferable.”  _

_ “Not insufferable enough to keep your eyes off my tits. Been a while, Lord Hand?”  _

_ “You could say the title has been more apt as of late than preferable. Touché, Lady Greyjoy.” _

_ \---------- _

He woke to Sansa’s smiling face and soft fingers brushing the hair from his eyes. “Good morning.”

“Morning?” Robb questioned, blinking away sleep. The room came into focus; Sansa’s room, now Theon’s. He must have fallen asleep after he changed Theon’s bandages. How had he gotten to the bed?

Sansa grinned at him. “I found Theon sitting very still with your head in his lap. We helped you to the bed. It was actually very sweet.”

“How amusing for you,” Robb grumbled, sitting up and looking for Theon. He was sleeping in the corner nearest the fireplace, a large fur draped over him, likely by Sansa. His stomach twisted and Robb took Sansa’s hand into his own. “I saw what this Ramsay did to Theon... and he had you… Sansa, I’m so sorry I failed you.”

She looked away and brushed a quick hand to her face before her Tully eyes bore back into his own. “Don’t. I made the choice to marry Ramsay to get Winterfell back. I had no idea… We all made stupid mistakes, Robb. Even father.”

“I should have seen through Bolton,” he mumbled, more to himself than Sansa. He’d spent his whole life preparing to be Warden of the North, the Lord of Winterfell. He was supposed to keep his family safe, look after his people. He should have seen through them all. Sending Theon back to Pyke was the first of many naive choices he made.  _ You are my brother, not my hostage. _ Balon Greyjoy was already planning war, whether or not his son was a captive. His mother had been right, but he wanted it to be done. He wanted it for his war, but for Theon’s sake. How many times had Theon shown up barely standing in his chambers after someone reminded him of his place in Winterfell?  _ They all think they’re better. What did their fathers ever do? Whelp whores and cunts and… Mikkens. My father tried to free his people! _ He would wipe the tears he would never admit to away and stumble out. He never could finish his thoughts to Robb, not on that topic. Theon had to know Robb would defend his father’s actions. He’d been a child. Many boys grew up far from home, and his father was a good man who raised Theon with his own children. And had their roles been reversed…?

He cupped Sansa’s face and smiled sadly at her. She was truly a woman grown now. “I should have protected you. I went to war for you and still led you into the hands of a monster.” 

“You couldn’t protect me forever,” she said as she placed her hand over his. “When I wrote that letter…”

The letter that caused him to call the bannermen. “We all knew it wasn’t you who sent it. Maester Luwin called it true as the queen’s words, and mother, too. I called the banners that night.” 

Something like horror crossed her face as tears welled in her eyes, and another pang of guilt struck him. Sansa’s eyes flicked to the furs on the bed. After a moment, she asked, “...did mother… did she suffer? Did you…?”

He sat back from her. His mother was screaming at Frey, begging that he be spared. He stood, vaguely aware of anything that happened around him. He thought he said her name before... Roose Bolton.  _ The Lannisters send their regards. _ But he did not see what befell their mother. It was too late. 

Robb found himself in Sansa’s arms. He fell against her, boneless. He smelled the oil of crushed flowers in her red hair. She said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

_ You’re a man, not a pup. _ Robb returned her embrace and hastily wiped at his face, hiding his embarrassment. “No, you have a right to know. She was injured but living when I saw her last. If Walder Frey had any shred of decency, it would have been fast. ...The whole war, she never gave up hope on you and Arya.”

“She wouldn’t, would she? She was a Tully, through and through and just as stubborn,” Sansa replied with a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thought you liked people calling you Lady of Winterfell?” he teased. Distractions were better than thinking. 

“I do. I’m very good at it,” Sansa said, puffing herself up. “But you’re the oldest and a King.” 

Robb stared over at the fire. “I died a long time ago. You know more about what’s happened in Westeros over the last few years than I. I was practically a ghost in Riverrun. Our lord uncle thought I’d never get my head back on straight… metaphorically, anyway, the Priest did a good job with that.”

She hit him with a look of disbelief on her face.

Robb held up his hands. “Can’t a dead man jape at his own expense?”

“No,” she chided. “It’s not funny. We mourned you. All of us did.” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by a scream. Theon was shaking fiercely in the corner, thrashing at nothing. “No, please, mercy. Mercy. Please!”

Theon bolted upright panting, his eyes wide in terror. After a moment he started to calm, his eyes refocusing. He looked at them both sitting on the bed before he ducked his head. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, Theon,” Sansa replied calmly. “How are you feeling?”

Theon rocked slightly and nodded, slowly pulling himself to his feet, leaning against the wall. “Fine. Good. Thank… thank you. Can...May I serve you...?”

“Do you remember your name?” 

He still looked at the floor and seemed to think hard about the question asked. “My name is Theon. Sansa… Sansa we  _ flew. _ ”

Sansa and Robb shared a mutual look of surprise before Sansa asked him, “What did you two say to each other last night?”

“Sansa… you got away. But he brought me back… I saw Rickon. I saw the wildling woman, Osha. She was here. Is… is Rickon alright?” Theon looked intensely at Robb for a moment before he swallowed. “I didn’t… They were farm boys, orphans. I didn’t burn Winterfell. Lord Ramsay… he punished me for… for what I did.”

She rose to her feet and helped to lead Theon to a chair. He was following her every move intensely. When she gently bade him to sit, he complied. “Rickon is safe. Osha was able to escape and left through the tunnels you told her of. But she doubled back and rescued Rickon. While the Boltons searched the tunnels, they stole a horse and rode North.”

“I said, she’s in the tunnels. I didn’t lie, I told him…” Theon murmured. “She knew. Knew they would follow her. Knew I would tell. He punished me.”

“You were brave to help her,” Sansa tried.  “And to help me.”

Theon shook his head. “A real man… wouldn’t have let you stay. He would have told you… about  _ him. I ...watched.” _

An unreadable expression passed over Sansa’s face before she regained her composure. “We escaped. Ramsay is dead. I fed him to his dogs and watched. No one is going to kill you for what you did, I made sure of it. If you take the Black...”

Theon sniffed, but shook his head. “I don’t want to be forgiven. I can’t ever make it right, what I did. I… I can go home.” 

Robb was trying to process the idea of Sansa allowing a man to be eaten alive by dogs when he heard her sigh. “You can’t go to the Iron Islands, Theon.”

Theon looked at her with wide eyes before he nodded obediently. “To… to the dungeons then?”

“You’re not going to the dungeons,” Robb huffed, impatient. “No one pulled you out of them just to send you back.”

“ _ He _ did…” 

Sansa interrupted. “Your father, Lord Balon, has died. He was murdered by your uncle Euron. I’m sorry.”

Theon sat motionless for a moment before he asked, “M-my sister?”

Robb hardly knew Theon had a sister for how rarely he spoke of her. He only spoke of his father and returning as the heir to the Islands. 

“On last word, she had fled to Essos to join the Dragon Queen there. She stole part of the Iron Fleet and took it with her.” 

“Yara’s men are loyal to her. They would stand on deck for a year if she asked, she told me.” 

A bold knock on the door startled Theon. Maester Wolkan whispered in Sansa’s ear and left a scroll before disappearing. Sansa pulled it open quickly and read. 

“What is it?” Robb asked, looking at the scroll over her shoulder. It was from Tyrion Lannister; they would be arriving in three days to discuss an important matter. They should feel flattered; Daenerys Targaryen had wished to summon The King in the North to bend the knee, but one Yara Greyjoy insisted she had someone of importance to collect. 

They met eyes and Sansa left quickly to bring the news to Jon. Robb made to follow her, but hesitated. He looked back at Theon, still crouched in the chair.  _ The news won’t change in a day.  _ He bid the guard to bring them food, something soft for Theon, and a skin of wine. 

Robb dropped into the chair across Theon. “Your sister is coming to Winterfell.”

“She’ll be angry with me…” Theon muttered. “Everyone is angry with me.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, listening to Theon’s voice. He missed it. Gods had he missed it. “You made a right mess of things, everyone should be angry with you.”

_ Theon or myself? _

“I’m sorry. I should have sailed back in defeat. I should never have--”

“How can I stay angry with you when you look like that?” Robb interrupted bitterly. “By the old gods, Theon, he castrated you. He flayed you. I’m angry  _ for _ you.”

“I deserved everything.”

“Not even the Lannisters deserve such treatment,” Robb countered. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

“I know,” he whispered, fingers twitching. “He told me you died and I wanted to die with you. I wanted to take it all back. But it was impossible. Stark or Greyjoy, I didn’t know what was right.” 

“You know what Jon would say,” Robb groaned. Jon would have said he didn’t have to choose. He was both. But Robb was raised a Lord, all of the pressure of his House was on his shoulders. If Theon were a Stark, he truly was Robb’s brother; he could not feel for a true brother what he felt for Theon. It wouldn’t have been accepted. And so, “I never said it. I told you you weren’t a Stark.” 

“I could never be like you,” Theon said with a hint of his old self, the vulnerable one he hid under tits and ale. This Theon wore no such armor. “You were the King in the North. You led armies. You won every battle. There’s no one else who could be you. You’ve been more my brother than anyone. More than. My father left me to him.”

_ More than… _ Robb remembered how rough Theon’s hands were after days of training. He remembered getting arse drunk and shaving each other’s faces because their beards itched when they kissed. He remembered stupid boys pulling at each other’s pricks and spilling too soon for it was the first time another had touched them  _ that _ way. 

_ “He asked me if I loved him.”  _

Robb sucked in a breath. “You said he asked if you loved him. Did you?”

Theon trembled. His shoulders shook and he sobbed into his chest like a little boy. “I… mm… He was never going to let me go. No one was going to come for me. You, you didn’t know him. He was my Master, my Lord, the only God. I…I would do anything… anything he asked. I… I can’t, I can’t say it. But I did. I did. I’m sick. A sick creature. I’m no man.”

Robb felt strange, as though this was not real. He noted, with some distance, that he stood and hugged Theon close to him, one hand clutching the back of his head. There was a wall between he and Theon. Slowly, he felt the world lose its dreamlike sheen, and he felt Theon’s warmth. He had no words to offer, no comfort he could give in the face of such devastating truth. How could anyone love their torturer? If they were alone, how could they not? Even a beaten dog obeys, hoping again for the one time it was spared the hand. Robb recalled the bloodied rag Theon had held to his backside. “He took you as ...as a woman?” 

Theon shook against his chest. “He caught me… when he brought me to the courtyard… they all…”

“Shh,” Robb hushed, fingers buried in Theon’s thin hair. Theon did not move, but sobs came from deep in his chest as he cried against Robb’s shoulder. He hoped Bolton’s corpse was among the walking dead so that Robb could kill him again. His stomach was sour with Theon’s suffering, with his regret, with his sorrow.  “You’re a man, Theon. You are to me. It wasn’t right, no matter how wrong you were. It wasn't right.”

Apologies tumbled from Theon, and Robb hated knowing that he couldn’t let him go again. 


	5. What Is Dead May Never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Yara arrive in Winterfell, and Yara calls out something even Robb can't admit.

_ “And what do you mean to do with that?” he asked his little brother. Rickon didn’t reply, his face sour with anger. He stood in front of Theon’s door. “Do you want to kill him?” _

_ “It’s his fault,” Rickon ground out quietly, tears pricking at his eyes. “He took Winterfell from Bran and beheaded Ser Rodrik. We begged him not to. He’s supposed to be our brother and he took our home away.”  _

_ Robb hugged his little brother to him and the knife clattered the floor as Rickon sobbed. Rickon hardly reached his waist last time Robb saw him; now he was at chest height. He should say something his father would have said. You don’t take a knife to a man unless you mean to kill him, lest he kill you first.  _

_ “Where is Bran? Why isn’t he here? He wouldn’t let me go with them north of The Wall.”  _

_ He had no reply; Rickon and Osha’s stories of visions and ravens with three eyes made little sense to him. How his head was still attached to his body made little sense either. It’s not Theon who’s gone mad; it’s the world itself. _

_ \---------------------- _

Robb made his way to the now familiar sight of Sansa’s room turned Theon’s. He entered without knocking and found Theon fumbling with his jerkin. 

“You’re dressing for the occasion?” Robb asked as he leaned against the closed door with his arms crossed.

“Sansa… Sansa said I should wear this,” Theon mumbled, focusing on his task. His hair had been cropped short and his beard trimmed. Sansa’s doing. Theon was always a handsome man, but now he seemed too thin, too small. 

“Plain for you, isn’t it?” Robb commented and tried to lighten the mood. “You spent an hour deciding between silks once.” 

“Sansa said I’m to wear it,” he repeated, missing the jape. Theon never missed a chance to make light of a serious situation. He winced as he straightened his clothes. 

“You didn’t touch milk of the poppy today, did you?”

“It’s fine,” Theon dismissed, still struggling with the ties. Robb was impatient while watching Theon dress and moved to finish the job for him. He stood awkwardly, haunched as Robb quickly pulled the strings tight. He stood like he was waiting on orders. “Thank you.”

Robb shrugged. He was frustrated that he found himself caring for Theon when he was barely caring for himself _ , _ but he could not stop without guilt nagging him. That was no longer an unfamiliar feeling, yet something else creeped in. His dreams of late were no longer of slaughter, but of Talisa, collapsed on the floor in tears. She would turn to him with betrayal in her eyes and she would call him an oathbreaker before she disappeared into a sea of red, leaving his hands empty and soaked in blood. 

Theon opened his mouth and shut it. He stared at Robb before he said, “They were different.”

Robb blinked. “What?”

“The silks,” Theon said softly. “They were different. In the sun, the sheen, the color would change. It had to go with the rest.”

He stared at Theon. “Why would anyone care if they  _ matched?” _

“One was the color of my House; the other was the color of shit.”  

Robb couldn’t help but laugh, a smile crossing his face. This was the Theon that always brought laughter to the halls. Mayhaps he was not so far gone. “How is it you did not get along better with Sansa?”

They made their way to The Great Hall where the lords had gathered to hear the Targaryen proposal. The room was heavy with smoke and rumbling with chatter from the crowd. Robb sat at the end of the head table while Theon sat next to Brienne of Tarth and Ser Davos, The Onion Knight, at the table adjacent. Sansa, Jon, and Rickon filled the rest of the seats with him. The doors parted and a short man with a slightly rocking gait strode in next to a lean woman in leather and armor. She carried an axe and sword at her side.  _ That must be Theon’s sister.  _ They stopped and gazed around at the contempt of the North. Tyrion took a hesitant step forward.

“I see that we are not your only guests,” Tyrion drawled as his eyes roamed the room. Robb met his gaze and Tyrion appeared genuinely shocked. He leaned slightly back. “Lady Greyjoy, tell me, do you see that young man there, with the red hair and wolf skin?”

“Aye,” replied the woman, eyeing him silently. “What of him?”

“I believe I must be seeing a ghost, as that is Robb Stark.” 

Lady Yara looked equally shocked as Tyrion. His flippant manner stoked Robb’s anger, but he restrained himself from attacking a lord permitted entrance in his family’s hall. His voice was low and serious as he said, “Lannister. Give me cause not to strike your head from your shoulders where you stand.” 

Jon and Sansa exchanged veiled looks. All around the hall, the Northerners chuckled low at their guests’ expense, “The Young Wolf lives.” 

Lord Tyrion seemed to sober. “I knew nothing of the plot against your family. I would not condone the slaughtering of an enemy at the dinner table, even in war.”

“Given that you ride under a dragon’s banner, I am like to believe you.”

“My family and I have had some disagreements as of late, it’s true.”

He was a kinslayer, which was detestable enough, but if one is to be a kinslayer, Robb could hardly find a better man to slay than Tywin Lannister. A biting voice in the back of his mind called out,  _ Did Karstark not also call you a kinslayer? _

Tyrion brought him from his thoughts. “How is it that you live?”

Robb spoke no word to answer the question, he merely stared down Tyrion for the boldness of his inquiry. Jon stood and replied in his stead, “My brother Robb returned from the Riverlands. He was gravely injured at the Frey’s hands and--”

“Injured?  _ Injured? _ ” Tyrion barked in disbelief, slapping his thighs. “If by injured you mean to say beheaded.” 

“Did you come here to question my brother’s honor or treat with us?” Sansa asked coolly and Tyrion raised an intrigued eyebrow. 

“Lady Sansa, how good to see you,” Tyrion greeted. “I am truly pleased to see you back in your ancestral home. Our marriage was brief and very unconsummated, your several brothers should know. And who is the young man I see?” 

“I’m Rickon Stark,” his little brother said evenly. Robb was proud of him. He would be good lord one day. 

“Men have always said a Stark is too stubborn to simply die. You are another ghost, as I had believed Theon Greyjoy murdered you and your brother both.” 

“I didn’t murder the Stark boys,” Theon said suddenly and all eyes turned on him. He swallowed, realizing what he had done. Lord Tyrion look at Theon in disbelief, as though it could not be him. He may look more the Lord than before, but it was hard to recognize the Theon Greyjoy from years ago in this man. “But I did things just as wrong, or worse.” 

“Lord Greyjoy was punished for his crimes against our House and he saved both Sansa and Rickon’s lives. The last we saw each other, you were pissing off the Wall, if I remember correctly,” Jon intervened. Theon looked relieved to have escaped attention. He struggled to straighten up and remained still faced, eyes flicking back and forth over the crowd.  

“Seemed like the thing to do at the time. I see you are in black, but in the black of a King. You carry on your brother’s cause?”

“I do.” 

“Daenerys Targaryen is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Support her, and you will have no need to be an independent kingdom. She is someone that I, of all the godless people, actually believe in. She also has three dragons and army of Unsullied and Dothraki bloodriders. Lady Greyjoy, Dorne and House Tyrell stand with her. Bend the knee and things will remain peaceful in the North.” 

“No one is safe in the North,” Jon replied, grim as ever. “We face a greater enemy. The dead are marching on The Wall and then they will come for us. It is the North that will face them first. Tell your Queen to send dragon glass and prepare her army to fight the real war.”

“The real war is in King’s Landing, you must know this. Why tell me of old tales long dismissed by rational minds?” 

“It’s true,” Sansa said, supporting Jon. “The white walkers are real. Jon has fought them. The Night’s Watch has fought them. The free folk have fought them.”

Lord Tyrion’s brow knit together. “How do you expect me to believe this? The Iron Throne rules over Westeros and you would allow my sister to sit upon it rather than bend the knee to the true heir?”

“Lord Tyrion, do you think me a liar or a madman?” Jon posed.

“No, of course not,” the man replied quickly. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” 

“Then you know what I say is truth. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We’re squabbling over children’s games when the real enemy will kill us all. There will be no Westeros left to rule over if we don’t stop the Night King.” 

Tyrion and Lady Greyjoy shared a look. She stepped forward, nodding toward Theon. “I came here for my brother. If there is a threat, as you say, you would benefit from ships.” 

Tyrion’s face was unreadable, and he observed carefully.

“Lord Greyjoy is not our prisoner. Was that an offer of alliance?” asked Sansa. Robb glanced back at Theon; he watched with unblinking eyes, mouth shut tightly. 

“My priority is executing the man who murdered our father and retaking the Iron Islands. I make only an observation,” she replied. “One ironman is worth ten greenlanders, and I sail with enough ironborn to man one hundred of the swiftest ships in the Iron Fleet. What is it you asked for, dragon glass? It could be done.”

Lord Tyrion added, “You’re in need of allies and three dragons could win against this ...Night King. Bend the knee, and you’ll have the support you seek.”

Murmurs erupted in the hall from men who lost their fathers, sons, uncles, and brothers in Robb’s campaign south, in the fight to retake Winterfell, or expelling the ironborn. Too many men have lost lives in the name of House Stark. But none who stood before them was trustworthy. Not a Lannister, a Greyjoy, nor a Targaryen. 

“My own father rebelled against Daenerys Targaryen’s father, the Mad King, for what was done to my aunt, uncle and grandfather. He put fire to my kin. You would have us follow another Targaryen?” Robb asked incredulously. 

“Daenerys Targaryen is nothing like her father. She broke the chains of slaves in Essos. The Dothraki took their horses across the sea for her. She brought dragons back to the world. Even Lady Greyjoy has pledged to end the reaving and raiding of her people for the Mother of Dragons. Some consider me a Lannister, and one who chose this particular Targaryen to rule. You cannot ignore the war forever, not if you all wish to live through the long winter,” Tyrion said firmly. 

“If Daenerys were like her father, King’s Landing would already be in ruins. The only reason I can see that you’re here instead of celebrating your victory is that you don’t want to attack the city directly. Millions would die. And that alone makes her better than Cersei,” Jon observed. “But that does not change that the dead are coming.”

“And what of her?” Lord Glover demanded. “Your father tried to take the North. We chased you out of Deepwood Motte. Do you believe, Lady Mormont, that the ironborn could make such change?”

Lady Mormont stood and looked Robb in the eye. He returned her gaze with a solemn nod; her mother had died for him. Instead of pride, he wished he saw disgust in her eye.  “Bear Island has been raided by wildlings and the ironborn alike. But if we can make peace with the wildlings, the Greyjoys should have the chance to change.” 

Others stamped their cups on the tables. Some spoke among themselves. Robb hated every second of this. It reminded of him of his own arguments with his lords. The way they had crowned him King in the North and he accepted because it was his duty. And now he damned Jon to same role.  _ We will not go South again. _

Lady Greyjoy stood straighter. “My father is dead. My uncle Euron is not one you want in his place. He wants The Seven Kingdoms and he’s building the fleet to take them. He will kill anyone who stands in his way.” 

Sansa whispered something into Jon’s ear and he nodded. “We’re all tired and our guests have had a long journey. We’ll sup tonight and discuss the matter tomorrow. The steward will find you rooms. My lords.” 

The hall was almost deafening with the talk that erupted as Jon dismissed them all. Lady Greyjoy and Lord Tyrion spoke briefly before she began to approach her brother. Robb stepped between them. “Come with me.”

Soon they were in the privacy of Theon’s chambers, ale and meat at the table. When she determined Robb had no intention of leaving, she approached Theon, looking him up and down. 

“Theon Greyjoy, I couldn’t believe it. He’s dead, I said. You saved their lives?”

“...Helped Sansa escape,” Theon responded, voice hardly a whisper, eyes on the ground. “I told the wildling woman how to escape. She saved Rickon.”

His sister’s face was hard and she stood close in front of him, staring him down. “Look at me.” 

Theon winced but raised his eyes and Robb wondered what happened between the siblings when Theon went to Pyke. Even the women are hard on the Iron Islands.

Anger was clear in her voice as she berated him. “I risked everything for you. You were my brother. You were a spoiled little cunt, but you were my brother. And you betrayed me. Good men died trying to rescue you.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” Theon said quickly. “He… he broke me. Broke me into a thousand pieces.” 

She met her brother’s eye and she said sternly, “He sent us one of those pieces. That’s why I came for you.”

Theon’s shoulders started to shake and Robb realized what she implied. His stomach turned. “I should have listened to you. You’re the only one who ever--”

Lady Greyjoy interrupted, “That doesn’t matter anymore. Stop crying. Euron murdered our father and took the salt throne. Once he knows you’re alive, he’ll try to kill you, too.”

“...You should rule the Iron Islands,” Theon said evenly. Robb noticed he did not seem to address the threat of murder by his own kin. None of the stories Robb had ever heard of Euron were good.

She watched him carefully. “You suddenly stopped caring for the throne?”

“I don’t want to be king.” Misery laced his voice. Yara grabbed him by the front of his jerkin, pulling him to look her in the eye. He yelped at the jarring motion against his wounds. She stared into his eyes before she released him. Robb noticed he had tensed, ready to intervene. He calmed himself.

Lady Greyjoy paced the room with her hands on her hips before she stopped in front of Theon. “Sit down before you fall. Your foot is broken; hiding the crutch doesn’t hide your cringing and limping.” 

Theon did as he was told. Lady Greyjoy glanced over her shoulder at Robb before looking back at her brother. “Show me what was done. All of it.” 

Theon sniffed and rubbed his face before he held out his hands, missing fingers and bandaged. He carefully undid the front of his jerkin and struggled out of his undershirt.

“Is this necessary?” Robb demanded. Theon continued to undress. “You could simply ask.”

She replied harshly, “He was your _hostage_. My brother was mutilated, humiliated. It was your family who gave him to the North. I’ll see what it takes to break a Greyjoy.”

Robb bristled at her words. He didn’t want to think of it that way. “The Boltons are dead. Vengeance has been paid. It isn’t… proper.” 

Yara Greyjoy let out a sharp laugh. “Did you tell him how we reunited, brother?”

Theon only shook his head, not looking at Robb, and Lady Yara shooed his hands away from his breeches. He hated the way she said ‘brother’ and he did not understand why. She looked over Theon’s scars and ran her fingers in the air over the fish skin bandage. Her hand stopped when it reached the cross carved into his shoulder. Anger flashed across her face and Robb suspected she cared more for him than she let on. She asked, more tenderly, “Did they give you milk of the poppy?”

Theon looked at the floor like Grey Wind had as a pup. “Didn’t take it.”

Robb nodded at the untouched vile. Lady Yara snatched it from the table and lifted her brother’s chin to put the bottle to his lips. “Drink.” 

And he did. She clasped a hand behind his neck and pulled him forward to place a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll never hurt you, little brother. You’ve been a stupid cunt, but I’m glad you live."

Something inside Theon seemed to collapse and words tumbled from his lips in a mess, hardly coherent. “I thought it was a trick. He told me, before, he told me you came for me. But it wasn’t you, it was a boy from Salt Cliff who told lies. I escaped, but they caught me and strapped me to a rack and cut piece after piece away. But we flew, Yara, from the ramparts. She didn’t want to cross the river, but I made her because of the hounds. They ate her alive. I saw. Tansy, not Sansa. Tansy was… was a handmaiden in the Dreadfort. She made Myranda jealous. But I killed her before she could hurt Sansa. Myranda. They ate him, too, the hounds, but I didn’t see so I forget it. Yara, I didn’t kill the Stark boys, they ran away. Dagmer said--”

“You let  _ Dagmer _ convince you to kill little boys because the Starks went missing?”

“He… he cut their throats and burned their bodies,” he whispered. “I should have listened to you.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Father is dead. I took your proposal to Daenerys Stormborn, the one father rejected,” Lady Yara admitted. “She took it better than father.”

Theon looked up at her in surprise. Lady Yara glanced at Robb and jerked her head to the other side of the room. Theon rocked in his chair, looking lost in his thoughts as they spoke. Robb looked her up and down. Theon always preferred the finest wear and jewelry, but not his sister. Her clothes were worn by salt and wind, her hair not at all like a lady’s. “What do you mean to do with my brother?”

“Sansa already told you he is no prisoner. He’s been punished enough.”

Yara scoffed. “I wasn’t talking of your family.  _ You. _ Theon and I had little time together, but he is my blood. I stormed the Dreadfort when Ramsay Snow sent pieces of my brother home. I would do anything for my blood, my men. And he called you  _ brother _ in front of my father, asked  _ our father _ to bend the knee to  _ you _ . The son of the man who put our two eldest brothers to the sword, who kept him a hostage from the sea for nine years, and Theon thought it would _help_. You’re no simple adopted brother.”

Robb felt himself stiffen. “What do you imply, my lady?”

“Yara. I am hardly a lady even when my tits are out,” she said dismissively. “My brother would fuck anyone with a cunt, but he’d only go to war for you. Even as he was blessed with salt and iron by our Drowned Man, I knew it would end badly. My little brother warmed your bed, Your Grace.”

Panic and rage rose from nowhere. Time seemed to slow to nothing. He saw red and the next moment Theon was pulling at his arms, Yara Greyjoy pressed into the stone wall, hand at her axe, Theon yelling at them to stop. His hands clutched around her doublet. Robb blinked and let her go, stepping back, horrified. His hands shook.  _ I attacked the Lady Greyjoy. For what?  _

Two soldiers burst into the room, swords drawn. Theon froze at their raised swords. Yara rubbed her shoulder and withdrew her hand from her axe. Everyone looked to him for an answer. “It’s… it’s nothing. Leave us.” 

Theon glanced between the two, unmoving. The guards nodded and departed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to attack you. I… Are you injured?” Robb stammered.

“I’m not a flower, I don’t bruise so easily.” Her manner was easy, more a man than a woman, but something else entirely. She was not unattractive, and had he not been weighted by the guilt of attacking a woman unprovoked, he might have been horrified to have thought it about Theon’s sister. “Theon, your hand.” 

One of Theon’s hands had started to bleed, the bandages staining drops of red. He nodded and wandered back to the fire to work the bandages. Robb thought he should help him, but Theon was managing and he then remembered what Lady Greyjoy had said.  _ Warmed your bed. _ “Theon was like a brother to me. Nothing more.”

“I lost my maidenhead when I was four and ten to the servant girl who brought my baths. She had black hair like ink on the water.” 

Robb swallowed. She had lain with other women. “… What do you want?” 

“I came to take Theon home. Did you forgive him? Would you have whatever he is now? No cock and half mad. You know what I’ll do for my brother.”

Robb turned his back on her, staring at Theon. He was pretending not to listen to their conversation, but Robb did not believe he would be so fortunate. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Theon will go where he likes. He’s got right to.” 

Theon licked his lips and seemed to consider the position. Robb tried to convince himself he wouldn’t care either way what Theon did, but his relief was immediate when Theon said, “There’s a war coming. I should… I should be here.” 

Yara returned to Theon’s side and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Until we have the Iron Islands back, the ironborn can’t ignore an invasion of these ...dead men. And if the dead can rise, they can likely work a ship. I’ll speak with Tyrion.”

_ She doesn’t want to leave him behind _ , Robb thought.  “You believe Jon, then?”

“What is dead may never die,” Theon muttered. 

“But rises again, harder and stronger,” Yara finished, heading toward the door. “Any man who’s been to sea knows to expect anything. But I’ll believe it more when I see it.” 

“Wait--” Robb started and found himself without words to finish. His face felt insufferably hot. “You won’t tell… anyone, what you think?”

“That you fuck my brother?” Yara asked plainly, smirk on her face at his embarrassment, but the rage did not return. Yes, this could be none other than Theon Greyjoy’s kin. “I don’t care who my brother beds enough to tell anyone. With that said, the ironborn are going to the brothel where I hope I can find an ass better than those on the Iron Islands.” 

With that, she was gone. Theon was left looking at him. “Don’t encourage her. It’ll only get worse.”

“I’ve noticed,” Robb groaned. 

“You could have told her that we… that we haven’t, we don’t…” Theon stammered. “I know it won’t happen again.”

His heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.  _ Oathbreaker,  _ he heard. “Rest, you have to heal if you’re going to stay.”

Theon only nodded, the same face of misery as ever.  _ Silence is as good as any rejection.  _ Guilt nagged at him again. “I’ll stay, until you can sleep.” 

Robb knew that neither of them would sleep tonight. Theon with his guilt, Robb with his own. But at least they would not be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I really struggled with this one. Keeping track of the timeline is a little tough for me. If it seems like I don't know where this is going, that is because I do not! What an adventure?! ¡Qué sorpresa! My apologies if it's not up to par. I waffled on Robb shoving Yara, but it definitely can happen when folx have black outs related to PTSD, so I wanted to explore a bit how out of control Robb feels with everything.
> 
> I’m a big Yara fan so she ends up my fics a lot, lol. Despite her rather unhelpful “get your shit together or kill yourself” speech, she fucked off in the middle of her father’s war, against orders, to sail around an entire continent just to rescue Theon. She’s a pretty good big sis, just not a cuddly one.
> 
> Plus, one queerbo always spots another.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon struggles to keep the past and present apart.

_Robb didn’t like Theon sitting on the floor, so he sat in a chair before the fire, watching Jon Snow pace back and forth in anger. Before Ramsay flayed some respect into him, he wouldn’t have listened, but Theon was quiet now and spent most of his time watching others._

_“You were wrong the whole time,” Jon spat and walked the length of the room. He looked like a caged beast; Theon would know. “I’m no bastard at all.”_

_“No,” Theon agreed. Bran had come home with news for Jon, about his parents. Jon was no more a son of Lord Eddard than Theon. Bran wasn’t even Bran anymore, he was the three-eyed raven and Theon felt terror looking into his eyes. Bran was not angry with him after he saw what Ramsay had done._ We're both cripples now _. Theon realized that Jon was still talking._

_“...after everything,” he finished, breathing hard, hands curling into fists. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.”_

Because you’re drunk _, he thought. And Jon Snow did a lot of things with Theon when he was drunk, back before they each learned who they were._

Jon stole his skin of wine and drank it down before Theon could stop him. They wrestled over it until Jon pinned his arms down and their breath was heavy in the air. “Damn bastard, that was the last of my wine.”

“You brought it to my room, Greyjoy,” Jon smirked down, amused to get the better of Theon and flushed red.

Theon tried to throw him off, bucking his hips, but it only caused them both to groan at the friction. Theon grinned, doing it again, just to see Jon’s lips part in pleasure before his brow furrowed in irritation. “To share. But you’re hard, Snow, and on top of a highborn. Too scared to tell your father how you desperately want his ward’s cock? Or maybe it’s Ro--”

“Shut your filthy mouth, Greyjoy.”

Jon pressed on his windpipe, swooping down to give Theon a crushing kiss.

 _It had ended with Theon’s head bobbing between Jon’s legs, and Jon spilled his virgin seed too fast and with great embarrassment. He started getting drunk with Jon a lot more after that. He even taught him the bow. At least until the night that it was_ Theon _who spilled like a greenboy with only Robb’s hand caressing him through his breeches. Theon stopped drinking with Jon alone._

_“Theon.”_

_Right, Jon had told him something. Theon licked his lips and said the bolder thing he thought. “You couldn’t tell anyone else without it changing everything. I won’t tell, Your Grace. I never told.”_

_Something flashed in Jon’s dark eyes, like touching an old wound. Theon flinched, fearful Jon would take his anger out on him. Theon pushed away from his chair and sank to his knees in front of Jon, reaching for his belt to undo his breeches._

_“Stop._ Stop. _Theon, that’s… that’s not what I want from you,” Jon sighed, brushing Theon’s hands to the side. Theon stared up at him, waiting._ What does he want? Please him, or he’ll hurt you.

_Jon used to like it when Theon was on his knees, and Ramsay did, too. Sometimes Ramsay might put off his punishment for a whole day if Theon did a good job. But Jon only shook his head and turned his back on Theon._

\---------------

As a boy, Theon tried to learn what was right and wrong, until so many people told him so many different things, he no longer knew the difference. But Ramsay promised he could flay the betrayal out of him if he just learned _how_ to obey and serve. He’d always wanted to do the right thing. No one was as good as Ramsay at using pain to get results. It was Theon Greyjoy that was slow. But Reek wanted to be good even more than Theon had, because Reek only ate when he was good and he only got to keep his fingers and toes when he was good. If Theon Greyjoy had thought about _that_ maybe Reek wouldn’t be here. But Lord Ramsay must have missed some parts of Theon because Reek betrayed him, too.

Now he was confused again. His Master told him he was Reek, always and forever, until he was rotting in the ground. Sansa and Robb and Jon and Yara, they told him he was Theon Greyjoy. Reek had forgotten many of the things that Theon had done because it was hard to obey his Master when he knew them. Theon didn’t want to remember what he had done and mayhaps Reek was who he deserved to be. After all, freemen don’t kill children. Creatures who live in dungeons feasting on rats before the rats feasted on him, they killed children and deserved every lash of the whip, every limb flayed, every insult hurled, every drop of blood mixed with seed. It was too hard to feel every hurt, every searing inch of the knife, but Reek took the pain much better because Reek knew his place. His Master would only ever hurt Reek if he forced him to. His Master didn’t really want to injure him. He just wanted to help Reek obey. Maron used to say things like that, Reek always remembered. But he was Theon’s brother, not Reek’s.

Robb didn’t like it when Reek obeyed and demanded he be Theon again. It hurt Theon too much to see Robb, so sometimes he tricked him. He would remember a little and tell Lord Stark so he would go away. Yara demanded more from him than Robb or Sansa and Reek liked her. He could follow her orders easy enough, until she demanded he be Theon, too. But Yara saw that he was pretending and slapped him for it. Reek was starting to have trouble remembering things he did. Theon was starting to feel braver the more Robb reassured him that he was forgiven. Theon was starting to remember more. Now, he could smell Robb’s scent, the sweat from heavy furs, the perfumed oils from his bath. He felt more like Theon when Robb was there. 

“Jon told me something happened when he came to see you,” Robb said calmly and Theon was not sure why his voice seemed off.

Theon opened and closed his mouth. “He was angry. I was helping.”

Robb seemed pained at the words and Theon wondered if he did something wrong. Didn’t Robb always want him to be nicer to Jon? “You were trying to… you thought if you sucked his cock, he wouldn’t be angry?”

Theon nodded and Robb shook his head and dropped into the chair before the fire, a hand over his eyes.

“...You’ve done it before,” he concluded slowly, something dark on his face. Theon felt the hair on his arms raise. “Of course you have. I should have seen it.”

Theon’s stomach churned with guilt and he was tempted to go to the place in his head to hide. But Theon was supposed to do better this time, so he stayed. “It was before… before we started to…”

It hadn’t been often because Robb was ashamed of it, but when his responsibilities were too much, he would come to Theon to forget. Theon loved bringing Robb down to his level, making the perfect lordling beg for it like a wanton whore. They hadn’t gotten far, just mouths and hands, before they took to war. Only once did Robb take Theon and it was after he had sent 2000 men to die and Robb wanted to shut Theon up about it. It was brutal and raw and Theon had never spilled so hard in his life. He retreated after to hide his shame, trying not to think of blood and death and what Balon Greyjoy would say about his heir getting fucked in the ass by a Stark.

“Theon,” Robb said quietly. “Were you thinking of Jon when...?”

He dropped to his knees, begging like a dog at Robb’s side, his hands on the rests of the chair. His eyes were wide when he said, “No, milord, only you.”

Theon realized his mistake. He wasn’t supposed to call him that. But he was desperate and he wanted him to know. It’s always been Robb. Since forever. Theon reached for Robb’s breeches. He would show him. He would. Robb grabbed his wrist. “If you think I’ll be less angry with you, it won’t change much.”

“You’ll feel better,” he murmured. “You can do anything. You can hurt me. It’s not… it’s not like before. I’m not a man, you don’t have to worry.”

“Seven fucking hells, Theon,” Robb ground out in disgust. His grip tightened on Theon’s wrist. “Who do you think I am?”

Theon froze at Robb’s anger. He couldn’t help but shake and wince for the blow that always came. Ramsay would have beat him bloody and left him there for a whipping before putting him back in the kennels. He was forgetting again, forgetting the rules. They keep changing. _It’s not supposed to be fair._ Panic took him and he blurted, “Sorry, I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Robb wouldn’t want to touch a creature like him. It would be beneath him. Why was he even here? Why didn’t they kill him? Yara might do it, if he asked her. She might. Or she might leave him the knife to do it himself, but he knows better than to fall for _that_ jape again. Sansa had taken away the cutlery in the room after--

“ _Theon,”_ Robb stressed, his hands on Theon’s face. Suddenly he was staring into Robb’s eyes and it was too much. He might drown in his guilt and wouldn’t that be a fucking interesting way to meet the Drowned God? Robb’s voice was more gentle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t yell at you.”

A strange thing to apologize to Theon for, but Theon watched silently, listening, still as winter. _His hands are warm._

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know why I’m alive. But I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.”

His shoulders twitched and Theon couldn’t speak. Hurting was all Theon did. What could he do to himself that Lord Ramsay hadn’t already done? “Robb…”

“Stop reaching for men’s belts, you hear me? You aren’t Ramsay Bolton’s whore, you’re Theon Greyjoy. You don't have to fuck anyone you don't want to.”

Theon squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted Robb. He’s always wanted Robb. Even when he was fucking that captain’s daughter on the way to Pyke, he was thinking of Robb. _Did her father cast her out? Did she have a name?_ Why did he think of her now? Why did he always have to _think. “Please_ , stop. Stop trying to make it better. Let me be. _”_

A quiet settled. Theon drifted, lulled by the poppy’s milk Robb gave him. (They watched him now. Poppy thrice a day made him tired and numb.) His screaming wounds were only a loud ache and he felt like floating on the godswood springs. Soon he would try his hands again; the Maester said he needed to build back the strength. Even Maester Wolkan had secrets. Theon had stroked his stubby cock just to get a bit of poppy, back before he knew his name. It’s why the old Maester was kind to him now; he hoped he would not tell Sansa and the others.

“You think you’ve done wrong,” Robb murmured into his hands. “I killed them all.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Theon replied without thinking, and Robb seemed annoyed but curious.

Robb looked into the fire and Theon thought he was being dramatic, but his face was highlighted in the light and he couldn’t look away. “After you left, Mother let the Kingslayer go. Karstark killed two Lannister boys.”

“Torrhen Karkstark… strangled by the Kingslayer,” Theon said distantly.

“Aye, revenge.”

Theon ducked down. “You took his head.”

“As honor demanded.” Robb nodded slowly.

“Honor,” Theon echoed, swallowing hard. Theon waited for Robb to continue; he could always tell when Robb was thinking on how to phrase an ugly thing a bit prettier.

“...I met a woman,” he whispered and Theon leaned in to hear, heart thumping in his chest. “Talisa. She was a healer and the only one left to put me in my place.”

 _Lady Catelyn was always right about me, but she forgot to know herself,_ he thought grimly. _We both let him down._

“I married her.”

Theon stared openly at Robb. Did he know that? _Oh Reek, I forgot to mention, about Robb Stark…_

Robb bit his lip and shook his head. “I loved her. She carried my child.”

A child, an heir, a nephew. Truth crept in unbidden and Theon shuddered. “Your promise to Lord Frey. The marriage to a daughter.”

“You weren’t there.” The words fell like stones on him and he forgot how to breath. _Weren’t there, weren’t there, weren’t there._ How could it mean so many fucking things at once? Even if Robb had chosen to take his head for his father's attack, Theon should have gone back. Robb’s face was dark, far away. “I lost the war for her.”

Theon could only watch him, breathless and still, afraid to make a sound. His courage came back slowly. A memory took him of Robb shoved into a fence after he had already yielded to an older lordling. The entire corral collapsed, sending animals running into the courtyard. Robb erupted and leapt at the boy; Theon had to hold him back. Later, Theon found him repairing the damned thing himself. Robb dismissed his pleas to do something more fun. So Theon sighed, “I was going to share this wine with Snow, but if you aren’t coming, I won’t bother with the bastard.” Robb’s hammer stilled and he snatched the skin from Theon before stomping off. Theon had followed with a grin.

“You never could just take your fair share. The perfect lord even has to be the _guiltiest,”_ Theon huffed quietly and Robb appeared stricken. But some hidden part, some old rusty part, bade him continue. “You don’t have to be responsible for every man that got the sword or arrow. You didn’t ask to be King, we threw it upon you. What else could you have said?”

“Theon, you don’t know what you’re--”

“I remember. I do, I remember,” he insisted. He did. He could remember some things. “Maybe you shouldn’t have wedded that healer, but if that’s the worst you did, it’s the most honorable stupid thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“I’m a shit politician,” Robb grit out, hands clenching.

“Aye,” Theon agreed. But nothing Robb could ever do would compare to what Theon had done. _I win._ He wanted to throw up on Robb’s lap. A sound distracted him, it was Robb’s bitter laugh. He smiled, though. Theon had forgotten what Robb looked like when he smiled. At first it was such a _good_ thought, a thought to get through the pain, but it turned into a sick, perverse reminder of why he deserved every bit of the knife. Reek didn’t want to waste time thinking of Robb when he could be thinking of Ramsay and how to please him. Theon swallowed and tried a smile. An old man’s smile. “I was proud to call you King.”

A kind and terrible thing to say. His mouth has always been a cursed thing, no wonder Lord Ramsay took his teeth.

“My wife and child, my mother, men and direwolf, all dead and somehow I still live. _”_ Robb’s brow furrowed and he covered his face. A low sound, a painful sound, came from deep in his chest and Theon wished he could hide from it. Only when Robb learned of Lord Eddard’s death had Theon seen Robb so devastated, racked with sobs that anger quickly swallowed. “It isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here.”

He felt split in two, one mad part tittering that it’s _Robb_ who should not be here, the other pained to hear his grief. Theon put his ugly hands on Robb and shuffled to a stand, to bend over his King. _He’ll thrash me for touching him,_ the thought appeared. His arms were weak things, _small like the woman he lost_ , but he pulled Robb to him. “You should be.”  

Something changed, time seeming to stop. Robb said pained, “She’d call me an oathbreaker.”

Theon murmured back, “You loved her until the end of your days. You fulfilled your oath to her.”

Robb rose back in his chair, staring up at Theon with bright eyes. Hungry eyes. Desperate eyes. Theon had seen those eyes before, the night Robb shoved him back against the war table, sending wolves and lions to the floor. _It was a harsh kiss, the kind that stole your breath as you melted into it, teeth on teeth, tongues fighting. No sooner than it started had Robb spun Theon around, and Theon could feel Robb’s cock hard against him. Robb tore at his breeches, tugging them down to his ankles and the chill of the night air caused him to gasp. Theon was already hard and he tried to turn to free Robb’s length, but Robb pushed him back down on the table. He said nothing, but the air was heavy with his ragged breaths. Robb quickly undid himself, pulling his cock out slicked with want. His spit in his hand and stroked himself, running a finger in the crack of Theon’s arse, toying with his hole. Shit, Theon had thought, panting and dizzy. He needed this. Theon growled, “Fuck me already, Your Grace.”_

And when Theon sensed the real world again, he was in Robb’s lap, biting at his bottom lip with a whine. Robb opened to him. He was almost feral, taking what he wanted like the lord and King he was. He was breathless, head spinning. Suddenly, Robb stood, carrying Theon with him; he stumbled, but Robb had him. They fumbled their way to the bed, a handful of Robb’s red hair in his fingers, and Theon fell back. Robb pressed between his legs and leaned down to capture his mouth. On the best days, he had trouble telling the past from the present and now he was drowning in them both. Robb’s tongue was soft and warm, lingering wine like summer cherries. “ _Robb.”_

Vaguely he noticed something hard pressing into his pelvis, _there,_ and he started to shake.  Robb froze, seeming to remember himself, and they both stopped, staring at each other. It wasn’t Robb anymore, it was Ramsay or any one of his men or Myranda or--

The shaking turned to panic turned to terror and Theon shoved Robb away, clawing for a way out, the word “please” spilling over and over from his cracked lips. Robb reeled back and doubled over on his knees, looking sick. Theon fell off the bed and covered his face. Whether he closed or opened his eyes, he could see nothing but Ramsay, his grin, the sweat that dripped as he focused on the perfect cut or thrust. Robb dropped to the ground, as well, leaning back against the wall. The fire crackled and their panting breaths drowned out the howling winds.  

Robb let his head thump hard against the stones. Theon tried to slow his breathing. The two of them sat, still and each waiting for the moment to end.

“I’m sorry,” Robb said, voice cracking. Theon could not move. _What is he apologizing for now?_

He licked his lips.“‘M not a child.”

Robb gave him that look, the _You’re not well_  look. The _That’s not what I want from you_ look. The _You can’t go back to Pyke_ look. The _If you think this has a happy ending_ look.

Theon’s eyes met the floor. He no longer knew what to do with himself. Maybe he was a child. _Lord Ramsay would know._ The thought was unbidden, but it crept in and took hold. Theon was no good on his own. He needed to be under control.

_“Thank him, Reek. It’s only polite after he soiled himself to touch you. You’re my pet, but you are quite disgusting to others. Thank them for fucking a creature like you.”_

_Everything hurt. He was always dirty, but now he felt it in his bones as the truth of him. He swallowed the seed left in his mouth, soured by bile. “Th-thank you.”_

_“For what, Reek?”_

_“For fucking a creature as disgusting as me.”_

Theon saw past the floor, into the heart of the weirwood trees and into the soil itself. With trembling legs, Theon stood and limped toward the door, too numb to notice each jolt of pain, too empty to notice Robb burying his face in his hands, unmoving. _The kennels,_ he thought. It was the only place in Winterfell that felt right. He could sleep with the dogs and the copper scent of Ramsay’s blood, where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon demanded a POV chapter, but he's not the best linear thinker at the moment. These kids need an intervention (which they will probably get). I clearly have a hard time not shipping Theon/everyone. Thank you for reading and your kind comments! :)
> 
> I imagine that Jon asked Bran to see what really went down with his parents. Sorry, Sam.


	7. Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon goes to check on Sansa and Arya comes home.

_ The point of a small sword was aimed in his direction and Robb looked down the blade at Arya, gobsmacked. Truly, that was her face, a smear of dirt with the same grey, defiant eyes. Robb did not move forward, but he was hardly afraid of his little sister. There he was with his arms out, ready to sweep her into an embrace. He awkwardly lowered them. Of all the reunions with his family, this was not going well. _

_ “Show yourself or I make you another hole to breathe from,” Arya pronounced, voice calm, but dangerous. He admired her spirit; she was a Stark if he’d ever seen one. _

_ Robb brushed the blade aside and took a step toward her, chastising. “Put that down before you hurt someone.”  _

_ No sooner had he swept the little sword back than he found its tip pressed dangerously into his throat. He froze then. Jon and Sansa came round from the other side of the table. Yara and Tyrion were tense. Arya grit out through clenched teeth, “I saw what they did Robb. To Grey Wind. You won’t fool a girl.”  _

_ “Y-You were there? At the Twins?” he whispered, his heart in his throat. “Arya, you were  _ there?”

_ “Arya, enough!” Sansa commanded. Jon approached with hands raised to calm her, but he caught her eye and stopped cold. She was serious. She was going to skewer him with a toy sword.  _

_ “Three,” Arya began. “Two…” _

_ With a frustrated snarl he pulled down his collar and showed her the jagged scar ‘round his neck. “I was brought back from the dead. By The Lord of Light, the Red Priests call him. I don’t know why or even how, but I’m alive, Arya.”  _

_ She faltered, her eyes boring into his. Robb wondered if he was brought back just so his baby sister could stick a sword in his throat.  That might be my luck.  Before he could blink, the sword was back in its scabbard and her small frame tackled him. He hugged her tightly, trying to will away tears in his eyes. She reached up and yanked down on his cheek. “Ow!” _

_ “Only checking,” she said with a grin ear to ear. No sooner had he let her go than she had jumped into Jon’s arms. He spun her around, eyes closed in relief. Jon and Arya were always the closest and thick as thieves. “Why aren’t you at The Wall?” _

_ “It’s a long story,” Jon mumbled, only vaguely glancing at the shocked faces of Tyrion and Yara. Robb had hoped not to share such a secret, but there it was. Jon eyed her sword and Robb recalled he had seen it before.  “You kept it all this time.” _

_ She pulled back to show him, pride on her face. “My Needle.” _

_ “Told you it wasn’t a toy and there you are almost running Robb through,” he laughed and she ducked with an unforeseen grace when Jon tried to ruffle her hair.  _

_ “And I told you I could be quick.”  _

_ He watched Sansa and Arya embrace, a joke shared between them about the Lady of Winterfell and proper titles. Robb couldn’t have imagined they would all be together this way again. Their parents gone, but the Stark children have reunited in Winterfell. They had all come home, the pack together as winter came. It was too bad Bran chose to visit the godswood. And Theon, well, he had been avoiding Robb altogether. Perhaps Robb was avoiding him somewhat, too, guilty for pushing Theon into an act  knowing he was not… quite well. It wasn’t an honorable man’s deed, should honor even apply to a situation many would call sinful and dishonorable itself. Thinking of it made his head hurt. _

_ Lady Greyjoy and Lord Tyrion departed to give the family space together. The negotiations were slow, but dragon glass was sailing north. House Tyrell had fallen. Dorne was raided by Euron Greyjoy, Lady Martell and a daughter taken prisoner, though the other two lived. The ships that carried the Unsullied to Casterly Rock burned. Robb was not sure whether to be offended or flattered that Jaime Lannister had stolen his feint. Perhaps the Kingslayer could learn new tricks to perform for his sister lover. _

_ “I want you to know,” Arya said, looking him straight in the eye. “Winter came for House Frey.” _

_ Sansa’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” _

_ “I killed Walder Frey. Lothar Frey. Black Walder. And all the Frey men. I baked his boys into a pie and fed them to him in the same hall they killed our mother, my new sister and her babe. And you, Robb.”  _

_ Arya met Jon with a cool gaze and with the shake of his head, he pulled her to him. Robb believed her. There was nothing but deadly truth in her eye, and his heart wept for the little girl who wanted to be a knight. He imagined little Arya carving into men like cattle and recalled how young and hungry he had been to get his family back when he went south. He remembered then standing on the bluff, debating how to handle The Twins. Theon argued for attacking Walder Frey… Robb had deferred to his mother’s negotiations.  _ I should have listened to him then. 

_ But Robb could not deny the pride that welled in his chest; she had avenged them, righted his wrong. “Arya, how--”  _

_ “It’s a long story,” Arya said, a small smile, a sad one. “But I’m glad to be home.” _

\-------------------------

Theon watched the boys training in the yard through a crack in the kennel’s stone wall. He could hardly call them men, young as they were. Jon called them to train starting at age ten. Looking again, he realized there were girls among the boys. Theon would no longer be the only one who sent orphan children to the grave, he thought darkly. He curled slowly back into himself on the floor of his kennel.  _ Not mine, nothing is mine.  _ He was safer here. Ramsay would only send him to the kennels because he didn’t need his services or he had finished punishing him. It was warmest to sleep with the dogs and he ate best when he could wrestle bones away for their marrow. He had been coming here in the nights to hide and sleep. He no longer wanted to talk to anyone and he took scraps from the pigs. He spent the night walking the walls and shivering through the cold. He changed his clothes and bandages in the early mornings, hoping he could avoid the bath for as long as Sansa would let him. 

He fingered the fish scales over his chest. They were grey-blue and he wondered if this was what merfolk looked like.  _ See, I am of the sea.  _ But he knew this fish, it came from the rivers of the northern greenlands, a fake.  _ Like Theon Turncloak.  _ Theon chuckled quietly at his cleverness. It bubbled and foamed and became tears and snot on his face, rubbed away with his sullied tunic. Theon drifted to sleep after tossing and turning for hours. He had been telling Yara that Robb gave him poppy and Sansa that Yara gave it to him and Robb that Yara had. It wasn’t lying if he was following the rules.  _Ask me for milk of the poppy again, and I'll flay you foot to thigh._

Theon snapped awake as something fell upon him. With a yelp, he threw up his hands, wincing, ready.

“Get up,” a voice like the ice outside demanded. 

He bit his lip and stood with his head bowed. He glanced up to see who gave this order. “A ghost…”

“You were almost on my list, did you know that?” the ghost said and she stepped closer to him, looming. Arya Underfoot. Arya Stark. Grey eyes, Lord Eddard’s eyes.  “On my list of people I’m going to kill.”

Theon said nothing, awaiting her judgment. Could a ghost kill him? 

“But you didn’t kill my brothers. You helped Sansa and Rickon. Robb said I couldn’t kill you, so as a kindness to my brother, I won’t even threaten you a little.” 

“My Lady is kind,” Theon said with deference, unsure if he was relieved or disappointed. He  _ knew _ now, knew when he looked into the eyes of a killer. She had the look of a hungry wolf. Mayhaps it was a dream, but it was too gentle to be a dream of his. Theon’s dreams were never kind.

“My Lady,” Arya smirked, amused. “What are you doing sleeping in the kennels? You’ll get your pretty silks dirty.”

“Where I belong, my lady.”

“Sansa told me you’ve gone mad.” Arya did not seem surprised by this.  _ Ghosts must see all. Is Ramsay watching me? Will he visit me?  _ Theon shook his head violently, hiding the thought away. Arya just kept talking. “I always thought I would shoot the bow better than you one day. If only to see the look on your face. But I haven’t been training with the bow.”

_ Pity, she had skill with it.  _ Theon remembered; Arya was alive, he knew this. It had been told to him, she was no ghost. Lady Brienne had seen her.

“You corrected my grip and hold, even my aim. You had a stupid smile and your hands lingered too long on mine, but you helped me and never had me thrashed for it.”   __

_ It was impossible not to teach her the bow, the way she was sewn to Jon.  _

“You should be out there, teaching those children so they might live through the war,” Arya said sternly.

Theon shook his head. He did not take up arms any longer. His fingers could bend again, but his hands were still weak. His skin pulled and ached when he curled his fingers. His wounded joints hummed in pain. Theon lifted things with two hands for he had fewer fingers these days. He removed his gloves and showed them to her. The thought of the Maester pulling a wet cloth  _ through  _ his hands to clean the wounds made him nauseous. He hated Maester Wolkan almost as much as Ramsay some days.  _ Maester Luwin laughs at me from the grave. Don’t think such things about Lord Ramsay. His ghost might hear it.  _

“I had no eyes once. No kindness was spared me. It made me better. Stronger. Pay your debt and keep your oath to Robb,” Arya ordered, gesturing to the bow she’d tossed at him. Theon took it with trembling hands. Theon Greyjoy used to know everything there was to know of the bow. He had made them himself.  “Draw.” 

He was thankful he had no pride left in him. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking back. With effort, he raised the heavy bow and after several failed attempts, clumsily nocked an arrow. His draw was pathetic and shaking, weakened by his missing fingers. A person needed strength for the bow and constant practice. His shoulder would not pull any further and he knew his form was folly. Tears sprang to his eyes as his flayed chest bit and burned; it was hard to think with or without the poppy, the pain was maddening. Straightening the best he could, he loosed the arrow toward a bag of rushes, guessing it might be something he could actually hit with his ridiculous attempt. It hit the lower corner, but hit the bag it did. Arya looked unimpressed. 

“Then show them the form. Do  _ something.  _ You’re a waste of food in winter and I have better things to do than make sure you don’t turn cloak again. I won’t let you hurt my family.”

“I-I wouldn’t,” Theon said quickly, desperately. “I...I’m a slow learner, but I learned. I did.”

He had learned. After he was recaptured and placed back on the cross, Ramsay had told him Lady Sansa was recaptured, too. Theon’s mistakes would cost Lady Sansa, he said, so he tried even harder to be Reek for Ramsay.  _ You don’t really need fingers to birth a son, do you?  _ After Rickon escaped, Ramsay flayed a woman alive with red hair and made him watch.  _ I thought it was Sansa he skinned. _ He left the body to bloat and rot. He breathed in the scent of her death and whatever was left of his mind was no longer worth saving. “I know… know my place now. I was bad… insolent…”

_ Is Sansa alright?  _ He couldn’t remember asking her, he was so scared when he woke in that room to a soft bed, a fire, warm clothes and food and water at the ready. He fell fast asleep the first time he had poppy after his Master had left him hanging there, hands nailed to the cross, teeth pulled, less skin than he’d ever had. His Master said he would leave him there to die slow like they did in the Free Cities. But that was a jape, because Master had then said he would bring him Jon Snow’s head for company. His Master wouldn’t really let him die. “And… arrogant. I learned better. I’ll be good.” 

_ Is Sansa the ghost? Jon and Robb. Maybe they’re all dead and they’ve come to remind me of what I’ve done. Is this all another game? _

Arya retrieved the bow, giving him a queer look. “You’re too skinny to do much anyway. Go inside. You aren’t sleeping here anymore.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared before Theon could reply. He wanted nothing more than to sink back onto the ground and hope the freeze took him in the night.   _ Robb doesn’t want me dead. I mustn’t confuse that.  _ He walked back through the halls, shaking away thoughts of Sansa--not Sansa--flayed and rotting. He noticed he was not walking toward the chambers Sansa permitted him to use, but was wandering the halls aimlessly. Theon stopped to gain his bearings when he heard a woman scream.  _ Sansa.  _ Seeing no one else, he edged closer to the sound, cautiously opening the door from which he thought it came. 

Only the moonlight and dying embers lit her face, but it was Sansa. She sat upright in her bed, crying and gasping for air. Not thinking, he closed the door behind him to attend her. “A nightmare, my lady?”

She jumped, but calmed when she saw him, wiping away her tears with her fingers. “Theon. Why are you here?”

He lit the candles at her bedside and tended the fire. “You screamed.” 

“...A bad dream,” she sighed, running her hands through her hair, brushed long and free for the night. Ramsay had once forced him to brush and braid Sansa’s hair with his newly sprained fingers rigid and purple. He laughed at them both and placed Sansa’s hand on Reek’s lap, rubbing hard, so she would  _ know _ . Sansa looked ill. Ramsay spread her legs wide.  _ Reek is jealous of your cunt, my lady. He wishes I cut him a proper cunny that would wet and spread for his Master’s cock. Unfortunately, he’s only left to watch.  _ Theon didn’t want to remember what happened after.

He did not need to ask of whom she dreamed. “Are you alright, Sansa?”

She stared ahead with dull eyes and shook her head. “I can still feel what he did to me.”

Theon made to pour her some water when he noticed what tea she had at her bedside.  _ Oh.  _

“It’s been taken care of.” She said no more and he asked no question, placing the water at her bedside table and stepping back a respectful distance. He always knew how far to stand from his Master.  _ I’m not to call him that anymore, she told me so many times.  _ “No one needs to know.”

Theon nodded. Jon and Robb could not imagine such things. “May I bring you something to help you sleep, my lady?” 

She ignored his questions, looking him up and down. “Your bandages are a mess.  _ You  _ should have had something to make you sleep by now.” 

He did not sleep until they forced essence of nightshade on him. A drop a day so he can speak in front of others. Three drops so he can sleep. Ten drops are the reason he’s not let alone with the bottle. He decided to fiddle with more candles. “Sansa… they think I'm mad.”

It was not exactly pity he saw, but sadness. She left the bed in her night clothes and retrieved some of the Maester’s wares from her wardrobe. She took out bandages and a bowl of water for the table before pointing at the spot in front of her. Theon shuffled to her in resignation. 

“You’re… not the Theon they remember. Or the Theon they thought killed our brothers. But I know you better. You’re half mad, at most.” Her smile was small and he knew it to be in jest. He submitted to her care as she helped him from his top. He hated this part. Being seen. But Sansa had seen worse. “Are you going to tell me why you aren’t speaking with Robb? Or anyone for that matter. And look at this mess.” 

“I… I’m not well,” he stammered. “I’m no use to Jon. I’d just be another corpse for the army of the dead. Maester Wolkan has more wounded men than milk of the poppy and dreamwine. I’m only fit to bear cups.”

“That’s all  _ Reek _ was used for,” Sansa sighed. “It isn’t the same as what you’re fit for.” 

“Let me be Reek,” Theon said quietly. It was easier, less frightening than living in the world again. He wished desperately in that moment to be back under Ramsay’s heel. It was so much easier to let someone else do all of the thinking for him. He only need obey.

She shook her head, putting the supplies away. He redressed, relieved to be covered. “It wasn’t Reek that jumped from the ramparts with me. I am not losing anyone else. You’re Theon Greyjoy, whether you like it or not.” 

He had no response to that. 

“Robb’s been even more miserable since you stopped talking to him,” Sansa continued. “It’s distracting and it’s cruel to him, after what he’s been through.”

“It’s better for him. He doesn’t know what I am. He thinks he does, but he doesn’t know.”

“You’ve already done the worst thing you could ever to do Robb,” she pointed out and Theon wished he felt the stab of the words, but the reality of his betrayal had sunk in long ago. Sansa pulled her covers down and slipped under them, sitting up against the wall. “If I have to continue on living after Ramsay Bolton, then you do, too.” 

Theon raised his eyes to search her face. He did not like what he found; indifference weighted her eyes. That’s what he had come here for, to make sure Sansa was alright. He wouldn’t be here without Sansa telling him his name. “Shall I leave you?”

“No, stay,” she said softly. After a moment’s pause, she added. “Lay with me.”

He shivered. She patted the far side of the bed and rolled the covers back. Swallowing, he shed his outer layer and muddied boots. He carefully crawled into the bed with her, and she looked a girl of nine. Once, had he entered the bed of Sansa Stark in the middle of the night, his intentions would have been anything but noble. But he had no such thoughts any longer, and he wished to comfort her, as the girl he once knew. She settled into the crook of his arm, laying on the good side of his chest. She curled against him and Theon wasn't sure what he was doing or what feeling was sitting on his chest. Her hands fiddled with his undershirt. He glanced at her before quickly looking away. She shouldn't touch him. His filth might come off on others.

“I haven't felt safe since you held me in the snow. No one has held me that way since I was a girl.”

He tugged her a bit closer, thinking back to the night Ramsay played a new game with him. He nailed his hands to the cross and said he could watch what happens when thoughts of Theon clouded Reek’s mind. He skinned her alive in front of him and he had never heard such screams.  “I didn't know you got away… I thought… He made me think…”

Sansa shifted and she wrapped around him like a blanket. “I saw. I saw what he left in the dungeons with you.”

“I don't want to remember Theon,” he confessed. “The Northern lords would be happier to see me a servant.”

“They would be happier to see you dead.” He couldn't see her face, just waves of her hair, red like Robb's. 

“They’ve right to kill me for what I've done,” he said. It had occurred to him he may have killed his own bastard sons. How many times had he spilled inside the miller’s wife? His mind came up with all sorts of things to make it worse. “I shouldn't have let you marry him. I should have escaped with you when I saw you. I wanted to say something but…”

“I know,” she said. He was a coward. He had always been a coward. “Are you going to tell me what's really going on with you and Robb?”

“You and Arya are already fighting.”

She poked him in the ribs and pulled her furs higher. “That isn't fair. I asked you first.” 

He took his time before saying, “Robb wants it to be like before. Before I betrayed him.”

“He’s forgiven you, Theon, you’re brothers.”

But Sansa didn’t know they weren’t really brothers. Brother was safer to say than what they really were, whatever that even was. “There was… more.”

“More?” she repeated incredulously, shifting to meet his eyes. 

“It’s my fault, Robb just… just,” Theon looked away, trying to think of an excuse, but his mind stumbled over the words. “I brought him down… it wasn’t Robb’s idea. He didn’t want to. But… I can’t...” 

“Theon,” she said softly, her fingers warm and gentle on his cheek as she pressed her palm to his face. “Tell me.”

He thought for a moment and took a breath. “Lord Ramsay… you saw. He would have me… He took me. Took me as… as a woman.” 

“I saw,” she said carefully. And she had seen. After he told Sansa about Bran and Rickon, Ramsay bade him to demonstrate how a grateful wife is supposed to service her lord.  _ Though you’ll never marry, Reek, will you? You’re not even a man. _ He pawed at Ramsay’s breeches like an eager dog, begging. He remembered how happily Reek had sucked his Master down, hoping he would do a good enough job to earn a blanket. It snowed all day and the snow had even piled in the kennels. One of the stable boys had stolen his ragged blanket and he was tired of covering himself in dirt and straw for any hope of warmth. He kept his eyes on his Master always, so he could not see the look of horror on Sansa’s face.  _ Take me instead, let me sleep by the fire for a while. If I please him well, he might let Sansa alone tonight.   _

“Ramsay… wasn’t the first. I had… I had done those things to other men. But I wanted to, with him. With Robb.” 

“...You… and Robb?” Sansa choked, her eyes wide in surprise. “I had thought it had been only you and Jon.” 

“W-with Jon?” Theon blanched. 

“Yes, you boys were not subtle with any of it. Well, one day in the stables anyway. I stopped caring the moment I saw father’s head on a spike in King’s Landing. Nothing I had ever learned of the world had been right. But  _ Robb?”  _ Sansa mused. She settled back down against him. _ “ _ Responsible, honorable Robb. Robb, who would hand the executioner the sword to his own head if it was a law of the land.”

Theon nodded slowly. He added, “Robb, who would break a promise to Lord Frey and marry a healer woman of Volantis.”

“He cares for you more than a brother.” 

“He shouldn’t,” Theon replied quickly. “His healer is a ghost. She haunts him in his dreams. Calls him an Oathbreaker. But he wants it to be like before.”

“Then let it. My brother should be dead. He was butchered by his own bannermen at our uncle’s wedding. You should be dead. But you’re both here. You have a chance to make things right.”

He shook his head. Sansa should know better. He was never good enough for Robb, let alone  _ now.  _ He wasn’t a man nor even a woman; he was bones and guts barely held together in the skin Ramsay left him with.  _ Only I can stand the sight of you, Reek, the smell of you.  _ He had stopped feeling pleasure long ago, after his Master’s alterations. His sister made him go with the ironborn to the brothel.  _ You need to know them, Theon, they are your people.  _ He learned all of their names and their favorite kind of whore before he stumbled outside to vomit. He told Yara he drank too much ale. She rolled her eyes, but took him back to the castle and held him as she had after their brothers beat him as a boy. The only thing he had felt in the brothel was fear.  _ How can we make him feel better?  _

It can’t be like before.  _ He _ could never be like before. He couldn’t further his House. He felt nothing seeing naked women dance before him.  _ I am in Sansa fucking Stark’s bed and she in her night clothes, but there’s nothing.  _ He dreamt of drowning in the godswood springs instead of glory and honor. He didn’t want to play games, any games, even the ones he liked before where Robb was a servant and Theon was his prince. 

Robb couldn’t want a gelded creature marked forever as House Bolton’s lowliest bitch.

“It’s alright,” Sansa whispered against his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and he realized he was now on his side facing Sansa. She had pulled him closer, stroking the back of his head lightly. He froze, but relaxed against her, trying to stop his leaking eyes. “I know what you did was awful, and what Ramsay did even worse. But you’re still our brother, Theon. This is your home, too. Robb has followed you around from the moment you got here.”

He nodded numbly. He spoke, mouth dry. “Arya is your sister.”

Sansa tensed, but did not move. “She’s an assassin, do you know that? Taught by Faceless Men to be a killer. Who knows what she’s like after so much time?”

“You think Arya would kill you?” Theon asked, confused. 

“I can’t help it. I see enemies everywhere, Theon. If I turn, it’s as if some shadow might end me. Lord Baelish toys with me as if he thinks I cannot see it.” 

His brow furrowed, he thought for a moment. “Bran sees everything, like the Mast--”

“ _ Theon.” _

“Like, like him. He sees now. He  _ knows _ things,” he finished. 

“If I have to talk to Bran about it, then you have to talk to Robb,” she said, petulant and annoyed. “Stay until I fall asleep?”

He nodded, and she turned her back on him and tugged his arm with her. Hesitantly, he pulled her close and held her tightly until her breath turned slow and even. He buried his face in her hair and thought of his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if there are any bizarre errors I missed; my kitten walked across the keyboard as I was posting. XD;;;;
> 
> I am a sucker for Theon and Sansa bonding time. Starting to have a better idea of where this is going, but always uncertain how much I want to focus on Theon/Robb as opposed to the plot of S7 continuing on its altered course and other characters running around Winterfell. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	8. Hot Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb takes Theon to the hot springs.

_“There is no honor in lying,” Eddard Stark sighed as he sank into a chair, weary eyes on Theon._

_He kicked at the stone beneath his feet, angry that he’d gotten into trouble for doing nothing wrong at all. He looked defiantly at Lord Stark. “It’s not a lie! I didn’t steal anything! He’s the liar!”_

_“_ Theon Greyjoy, _” Lord Eddard replied sternly and it sounded like the song of the sword as it dropped on his neck. His stomach turned as he remembered the guards at his back when his father bent the knee. He had frozen, not knowing what to do._ I should defend him, run out and yell at them, show them who my father really is, a king. _But his body would not yield and he watched as his father offered him over to one of the men who killed Maron and Rodrik. His mother couldn’t even watch; they had pried him from her arms before this show. “_ My boys, my boys!” _Yara took her place to watch him off, and he was scared that she would not meet his eye. They left him to the wolves._

_Theon straightened, hands behind his back and he looked straight ahead. “I speak the truth, my lord. I swear it.”_

_“Tell me why you took Robb’s things.”_

_He puffed up his chest. “I bested him in battle. I earned right to those things. Because he is your son, my lord, I didn’t kill him. Robb is a liar to say I stole them.”_

_“And had Robb not been my son, you would have killed him over a row?”_

_Theon faltered. He was starting to like Stark’s eldest lordling. “No, my lord. I… I like Robb.”_

_“You are no longer on the Iron Islands. Northerners are honorable men. We do not raid, reave or rape.”_

_“What do you do with the women, then?” he asked, confused. His people raided, reaved and raped; did Lord Eddard think he was not honorable? Lord Stark's look shut him up. It had only been a fortnight since arriving in Winterfell, and he already loved and hated it. No one beat him, but everyone scorned him just the same. A blessing and a curse. But he was no traitor; he was a Greyjoy._

_“You will not take things from other boys whether you best them in practice or not. A man is not made by murdering an enemy, nor a friend. Learn our ways, Theon.”_

_“Yes, my lord,” he said, frustrated that these Northerners did everything backward. Lord Eddard still looked at him, expecting more. Theon racked his brain for what he’d seen Robb do last time he got in trouble. “I… I will apologize to Robb, my lord.”_

He was a slow learner, but he learned.

\----------------------

Maester Wolkan had a scroll for Tyrion and Robb eyed him as the little man read it. Tyrion seemed to sigh and stood from his seat to drop it on the table before Jon Snow. The hall grew quiet as men elbowed each other, nodding toward the commotion. Robb watched the Lords and Ladies of the North pause in their meals.

“You’ve invited Her Grace to your home by your refusal to bend the knee,” Tyrion said hotly. “Tell your men not to drop a shit when there are three dragons over head. She destroyed the Lannister forces that sacked Highgarden, your family should know, and the survivors have sworn fealty to her cause.”

“Because she would burn them alive if they did not?” Robb asked wryly. Tyrion only gave him a wary look before redirecting his attention Jon. Robb thought, _The Kingslayer got away, or the message would have shook him._

“Lord Snow--”

“Your Grace!” Lord Glover growled as his fists hit the table and he rose from his seat. Tyrion only glanced over his shoulder at the lord.

“Lord Snow,” Tyrion repeated calmly and Jon held up his hand to the fifty northerners ready to relieve him of a few more inches. “You’ve admitted yourself that Daenerys Stormborn shows restraint. Let us not start out the day with bloodshed. The dragons will do no harm as long as they or Her Grace are not threatened.”

“She will be welcome in Winterfell without bloodshed on our part. But archers will stand at the ready.”

“I can not blame you that,” Tyrion admitted and the men shook hands. Lords grumbled at their tables and returned to the feast with the latest news. Lady Greyjoy and Theon entered then, Lady Yara sitting Theon at Robb’s side and she at Theon’s. He could not help notice the long look she gave Brienne and her even longer gaze toward Osha. He had seen Theon give that look nearly every day for years. A look he had given Talisa and Theon both. He could see it so clearly now, when someone... like him was around. Others who swelled for the same fruit between their own legs as on their lover.

Theon looked everywhere at once, briefly stopping on Jon and Tyrion. His voice startled Robb; they had not spoken in days. “What did we miss?”

“Daenerys Targaryen is coming to Winterfell on her dragons.”

“...All three of them?” he asked, uncertain.

“Aye, all three,” Robb confirmed, tearing into a loaf of bread and watching Theon. He began to rock himself slightly, another odd habit Theon had picked up since his time in the dungeons. Robb wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

Lady Yara elbowed her brother lightly and he began to fill a plate and drink from the ale Lady Yara had poured him. Robb already knew he would only eat a fraction of it and slip the rest to the dogs later. Theon had never much cared for dogs in their youth. One barked too loudly at him once and he gave it a kick. Robb had tackled him and told him how he better treat his favorite yard dog right or else. Now, Theon didn’t seem to mind them. He visited the kennels often enough.

“Do you think Jon will bend the knee to Daenerys?” Theon asked, taking a short glance at Robb. “Yara likes her.”

Lady Yara cut in, “I like her ass most of all, but you Northerners would be smart to bend the knee. I’ve seen her children, and one could turn this whole place to rubble in a breath.”

“Jon won’t yield. They’ve made him a king. He has no choice but to lead them well,” Robb said dismissively, drinking long from his cup, hoping the ale would blur out the noise of people talking.

Lady Yara stabbed a dagger into the table near Robb’s hand. Robb only looked at it, unmoving. A sensitive subject for a queen on the run. “What do you imply, Stark?”

“Yara,” Theon said quietly. She wiggled the knife from its position and stabbed a piece of meat with it, returning to the lord next her. Robb rolled his eyes and started into the boar brought from today’s hunt. Robb tried to get Theon to join them, thinking it would do him some good to be on horseback again, in the woods, hunting with the rest of the men. Theon only looked sick and shook his head before leaving quickly.

“You’re speaking to me again,” Robb tried, glancing at Theon.

“Wanted to be alone,” he said slowly, carefully. “Sansa said I should tell you… talk to you. She worries for you.”

“She shouldn’t. I’m the one who should be worried for all of them. Look what Arya became because I lost the war. What do you think she had to do to learn something like that?” Robb shook his head. It’s not the life he wanted for them, any of them. Arya never should have seen what she did at the Twins. She said they shot Grey Wind with bolts in his pen. He wanted to avenge his father and take his sisters home. He never thought about taking the Iron Throne. Winterfell was his place. He had never thought to live away from it. “How did I let this happen?”

“Not like the dead wouldn’t still come if the Lannisters had stayed in King’s Landing,” Theon muttered to himself. “You didn’t start the war. The Lannisters did when they took your father.”

Robb looked him over. “Our father.”

Theon stared at the table. “Not after what I’ve done.”

“ _Theon_ ,” Robb sighed in irritation, already tiring of Theon’s self-pity. How dare he keep guilting himself when Robb had the good decency to forgive his wayward friend. Robb could not really blame him; he had paid for his crimes with years of torture and servitude. “He was your father, too. He’s still a part of you.”

He turned his face away from Robb and cleared his throat when a sudden noise diverted his attention. Robb followed his gaze to a young servant girl frozen with a look of terror on her face. Lord Cerwyn was standing, slicking wine from his jerkin, cursing at the girl for her clumsiness. The girl dropped to the floor and began to cry.

“Forgive me, m’lord, ‘twas an accident. Please, ‘m sorry, m’lord. Let me keep them, please,” she begged through her tears, clutching her hands to her breast. Confused glances passed among the crowd and Robb leaned in to ask Theon what this girl was on about when he noticed that Theon was no longer next to him. When he turned back to the scene, Theon was kneeling before the girl with a hand outstretched.

“It’s fine, Mabel,” he said so softly Robb strained to hear it.

“But I dropped the wine. He said if I dropped the wine again... don’t let them take my fingers, Ree--”

“He’s gone. The Starks are a noble family. They won’t harm you, I swear it.”

She took his hand with hesitation and stood with him. Theon motioned to another servant, who was already wiping Lord Cerwyn’s table down. Theon instructed her to take the girl to rest and have Lord Cerwyn found some fresh clothes. The girl thanked him and let the other maid walk her away. Jon nudged Robb’s side and leaned in. “Never thought I’d see Greyjoy treat a servant girl with kindness. How much of the household do you suppose worked under the Boltons? How many of the guards?”

Robb gave a nod in reply. Sansa said that Theon moved freely about Winterfell while she was locked in a bloody tower. The last thing they needed were rumors of Sansa or Theon’s time under the Boltons to spread halfway across the realm. He saw Lord Cerwyn shove into Theon as he passed, causing Theon to wince in pain as his chest was jarred. Robb frowned as he noticed a few knights join in the jest. One caught Robb’s stare and quickly ceased his laughter.

He stood suddenly as Theon returned to the table. “Come with me.”

Theon’s eyes flicked away before returning to Robb. He nodded.

The godswood was the only place that was not frozen in the icy winds. The last few days had warmed slightly, and the godswood was almost comfortable. The hot springs steamed in the winter air as Theon and Robb approached them.

“I shouldn’t be seen with you,” Theon cautioned, searching for comers and goers to the godswood. “The lords won’t like it.”

“They’ll hold their tongues, Cerwyn especially. Jon should have hung the lot of them as traitors when his bannermen refused the call. Then they crawl back to his feet and name him king.” Robb had been furious when he heard which houses had refused to take back Winterfell from the Boltons, that centuries old alliances crumbled to support a family vile enough to flay men living. But Robb had sewn those seeds when he struck down Karstark and spurned Walder Frey. “Stop jumping about like a spooked cat. We have the godswood for the hour.”

Theon shifted, standing at the edge of the hot springs. “To do what?”

“Lady Brienne put me through my paces this morning. That woman is part giant. I mean to soak my tired bones. And your wounds are healing faster than I thought possible.”

“Samwell Tarly, Jon’s friend, he sent some kind of treatment to the Maester,” Theon replied, touching his chest. As the weeks passed, Theon’s wounds healed. He no longer bandaged his hands, though he wore gloves everywhere. His broken foot and missing toes left him with a limp, but he walked without a crutch. The flaying seemed to cause him the most pain. “It’s almost healed.”

“Then you can join me in the hot springs.”

Theon’s head snapped up. “W-why?”

“You never asked why before. Get in and relax. You’re supposed to be the one telling me that,” Robb complained, tugging off his boots and heavy furs. “You move like an old man.”

“You would too if you’d been strapped to a rack for months,” Theon grumbled, edging away from the springs. “Everything hurts.”

“Then stop complaining and get in the damn water,” Robb said pointedly as he removed his jerkin and stripped down to his underclothes. He was naked soon enough and he caught Theon staring. “What?”

“...put a knife through his heart…” Theon mumbled to himself. “He told the truth. It wasn’t a lie.”

Robb looked down on himself. The scars never healed, they just looked angry and new. The place where Roose Bolton stabbed him through the heart. The arrows that feathered him. The disgusting line where he knew they hacked off his head and sewed Grey Wind’s in its place. He supposed he looked just as marred as Theon, as Jon. Once a man’s head leaves his shoulders, he never should return. “He told you? That I was dead.”

Theon nodded, looking at anything but Robb and suddenly he felt the way he did the first time he spoke in front of a girl and his voice broke and cracked. Annoyed with himself, Robb elected to savor the heat of the springs rather than let his balls drop off from the cold. “Get in and leave the sad tales for the bards and poets.”

Robb stretched out, groaning as his muscles stretched in the hot water. He’d always loved the hot springs, soaking out a rough training with Theon, Jon and Jory. Nothing felt better after drills so long you thought your arm might fall off. He cracked an eye open and saw Theon still standing there, immobile. He sighed and thought to change the subject. “What was the servant girl on about?”

“She grew up in the Dreadfort,” Theon said slowly. He sat carefully on the ground to work at his boots. “Knew what he liked to do to the girls.”

Robb leaned back into the pale sun of winter. For once, it wasn’t grey out, the sun shone down on them both. He already knew what Bolton did to Sansa; he could guess the rest. “Why didn’t you go hunting with us? Horseback would do you good, so would a hunt.”

Theon stripped down to his undertunic and stopped, staring at Robb. “I didn’t want to.”

“I bloody well gathered that,” Robb huffed, sinking lower into the warmth of the springs. “I want you to tell me why.”

“He liked to hunt…” Theon whispered. His eyes took on the haunted look they did when he got lost in his thoughts. “He hunted the servant girls. He hunted me. The girls, the ones that displease him or bore him, he hunts them and let’s the dogs eat them living.”

Suddenly Sansa’s choice in disposing of Ramsay became much clearer. He dunked himself under the water to let such a sick thought wash away. “...It wasn’t that kind of hunt.”

He thought he saw the hint of a smile before it disappeared and Theon was sullen again. Theon licked his lips before he asked, “Is it warm?”

Robb replied, “Stop stalling, Greyjoy, or I’m pulling you in.”

“You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t see me,” Theon said as if it were obvious.

“You’re a blushing maid now? I’ve seen you naked before.”

Theon hesitated before he shed the last of his clothing and slipped into the springs, as far from Robb as possible. Theon hid himself to the neck below the water, but even he couldn’t hide the look of bliss a man gets from soaking in hot water when every inch hurts to the bone.

“Gods…” Theon let out with eyes closed and Robb laughed to see him finally stop cowering for a moment. “I haven’t had a proper soak in years.”

“Not the way Sansa tells it. The way she talks, she has you boiling living every other day.”

“Not the same,” Theon said. “I don’t like it. I do it quick so she’ll leave me in peace. Yara’s just as bad.”

“Dungeons never made any man look a rose,” Robb acknowledged, rubbing his shoulders under the water.

Theon scoffed, “Most goalers don’t make you roll in shit and piss. He stopped letting me clothes at all after I helped Sansa escape. Before they had to rot off.”

“If he made you do all that to keep a name, why is it such a fight to get you into a bath, let alone the springs?”

“Against the rules,” he replied immediately. “Don’t ask for anything not given. Never bathe or remove your clothes unless the Master says. Serve and obey and he won’t hurt you.”

Robb’s hopes plunged. He thought this was getting better, that Theon had stopped calling the bastard ‘Master.’ “Stop. I’ll not hear you call that monster anything other than what he is.”

Theon shifted in the water, growing quiet. “You don’t talk about it either. What happened at the Twins.”

“All of Westeros knows what happened,” Robb said darkly. “What else is there to tell? My bannermen betrayed me for Tywin Lannister’s gold. Walder Frey painted his halls with Stark blood.”

“And after?” Theon asked. “You didn’t come home. You stayed with your uncle. You should be King before Jon.”

Robb’s head started to hurt and he felt exhaustion creep into his mind. _My own fault for pushing._ He could play the tragic king and answer Theon, but nothing sounded more draining in the realm than talking about his mindless wandering of his uncle’s halls, the madness that haunted him in the shadows and the voices that whispered his name. He slept with a dagger in his hand if he slept at all. No, that was the last thing he came to the hot springs for, so he did what any honorable lord would do and splashed his old friend with as much water as his arms could muster.

Theon stood immediately, mouth agape and Robb found himself staring. He remembered another time when Theon stood from the springs, water falling over his toned stomach and he had thrust his hips forward, gloating over some maid or that. Robb had blamed his greenness for the tug and pull he felt in his prick. Even now, Theon was handsome underneath the scars and missing fingers, the fish over his wound making him look like a man of the sea. His thin frame and scarred loins gave him the waif-like look of a woman, but his broad, flat chest, the curve at his throat proved him a man. Though they were always sad, his eyes were still the ocean of his ancestors. His heart was suddenly racing, his breath hitched.

And the moment was ruined as Theon _tackled_ him straight back under the water. They found themselves wrestling like boys, Theon holding Robb’s head under the water. He gasped as he surfaced, pulling Theon down by his shoulders. They splashed and tumbled over each other and it’s the first he’s heard Theon give something like a laugh. They both tired soon, Theon from his weakened state and Robb from the jarring punch Lady Brienne gave him hours prior. He dragged Theon to the edge to catch his breath, an arm around his shoulders, and they laid over the edge, panting and laughing.  

“Ser Rodrick would have had our hides,” Robb said through his gasps. Reality struck them both down. Ser Rodrick was dead, by Theon’s hand. And the rest of everyone he ever knew by his own. Theon still spent hours muttering his name to himself when he thought no one was listening. Six grown men had to pull Robb back from the edge of the river when he sought to join his wife and mother. He fought them and tore at them and wailed like a dying beast before they locked him in his chambers for his own good. He almost killed the priest who brought him back. Their laughter died. Two fools on the bank of the hot springs, men who should be dead, but somehow lived.

“They killed her first,” he said slowly, his throat closing. “They stabbed her belly until it split open, my son dead before his first breath. I held her in my arms, but she was gone. Mother… she screamed, she begged Frey to let me go. Death all around her and she still begged for _my life._ I can’t even remember the last words she said. I still hear Bolton’s vile tongue in my ear. The Lannisters send their regards.”

He could feel Theon shaking under his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“She thought to name him Eddard,” he choked out. It hadn’t been said aloud before.  “I was going to teach him how to ride.”

“I’m sorry,” Theon repeated, clasping a hand on the back of Robb’s head. He found himself at Theon’s neck, distracted from his sorrow, breathing him in. He shivered as he felt only three fingers run along his back. For a moment Robb didn’t remember where he was, only feeling a need to escape, to lean closer. He wanted to claw his way out and in and he felt the tear of skin under his fingernails. He rested against Theon’s chest, thin arms holding him there. Theon’s cheek was buried in Robb’s hair.

His hand pressed against Theon’s thigh as he pushed away, noticing they were now sitting on the bank. His breath quickened and his eyes drifted down. Robb remembered Theon’s cock, longest of the brothers. But Theon’s cock wasn’t swollen and dripping, hard just at Robb’s slightest touch. He’s empty there like a maid. Robb’s eyes met Theon’s.

“I’m sorry,” Theon murmured against his ear. He said it again over and over as he licked the drops of water from Robb’s cheek and heat stirred in his loins. _I don’t want to think._ He wanted to forget it all. Robb fisted Theon’s hair and jerked his head back, exposing his neck. Theon panted, waiting.

“Say it again,” Robb said, staring him down.

Theon stared back, blue eyes heavy and wanting. “I’m sorry.”

He captured Theon’s mouth in a kiss and Theon bit Robb’s lip with the teeth he had left. Robb demanded, a plea hidden in the words, “Tell me what I want to hear.”

“You’re my brother, now and always,” Theon promised, his throat still bared as his hand snuck down to wrap around Robb’s length. He gasped as Theon began to stroke him. It was so different than his lady wife, his hands too large and lacking the softness of a woman. But it felt familiar, like something he was coming home to. Theon continued, “I won’t leave your side again.”

“Fuck,” Robb groaned, prick swelling under Theon’s touch. He ached to feel every part of the other man. “You don’t… we don’t--”

“I want to,” Theon whispered as he lapped at the water running down Robb’s chest. Theon sucked at his nipple, tongue rolling over the nub, pert and pink. His cock twitched in Theon’s hand and Robb’s mind went blank. “Forget it. Forget everything. I’ll be good.”

“Theon,” he breathed, head falling back as Theon’s lips slid over the head of his cock. A warm tongue swirled the tip and lifted the first taste of his seed. He bucked his hips, his hand falling to the back of Theon’s head. He rolled into his mouth and Theon gagged so pretty Robb could have come then. Robb held him there until the first long strings of pale white dripped from his mouth. Theon arose with a gasp, face flushed, eyes naturally finding Robb’s. His prick ached and throbbed as he stroked the length of him faster than before. For a man with no strength in his hands, he had a way of squeezing Robb tight in all the right places. As Theon lavished his slit with attention, his fingers gripped Robb hard, tight like his wife’s cunny. _Forgive me._ The thought flashed quickly through his mind before his lust lifted him from his reverie and all memory faded to white. He stroked Theon’s hair and praised him as Theon worked his length up and down. His mouth was hot and his tongue eager to please. “Ah, yes, like that. Deep as you can now, that’s it. Gods...”

Robb lifted his hips and held his head down as he pumped into Theon’s mouth. Theon hummed his agreement, scratching down Robb’s chest as he relaxed his throat. Anger flared and disappeared when he gagged, sorrow washed away in Theon’s tears, and something else he could not name flooded him as Theon gently rubbed Robb’s thighs while he pressed his cock to the back of Theon’s throat. Robb shuddered as Theon groaned around him. When Theon swallowed him, pressing his face into the base of his cock, Robb was undone. “Theon--”

He pulled back to the tip and stroked wildly at his shaft, spilling his seed in Theon’s waiting mouth. He swallowed without thinking, already licking and kissing Robb through his last frantic strokes. As he fought to catch his breath, he found Theon staring up at him, his pink lips perfectly around his softening cock. He dragged Theon up to kiss him, tasting his own seed. As his tongue wrestled with Theon’s, he noticed that Theon’s hand had disappeared behind him. Robb broke for air and nipped at his throat, teasing up the apple of his neck. Theon began to shudder and moan. Theon begged, “Robb, fuck. Please. Touch me _._ ”

A bolt of pleasure ran through him. Robb dipped his fingers into Theon’s mouth and pulled them out slicked with spit and seed. He dropped his hand and carrassed the tender flesh where his manhood had been. Theon began to grind against him, his head lulling back as he fucked himself with his fingers. Robb rubbed circles around the nub he was left with and Robb yanked Theon up by his knee. Theon fell to his back at the edge of the spring, hands out to the side in surprise. He wrapped his leg around Robb, pulling him closer. Theon lapped at Robb’s fingers, whining for more. Robb leaned over him, searching his eyes for signs of that other creature, the fake Theon. He saw none. Robb slowly removed his fingers from Theon’s broken mouth and spread his legs. He glanced up at Theon “...Could I?"

Theon bit his lip, nodding, his fingers kneading the strip of skin in front of his hole and he shifted for better access to Robb’s fingers. “Easy.... It’s…”

Robb kissed him. “I’ll be slow. Relax.”

Theon’s hissing breath turned to a wanton moan. His teasing circling at Theon’s hole turned into one finger plunged to the knuckle. Three fingers to the hilt followed, spit and seed and hot spring water helping the way. As soon as Robb’s fingers brushed against ...something, a summer ripened plum in feel and smaller in size, Theon trashed against him. His eyes squeeze closed and whining gasps escaped his throat. “Gods… please, Robb. There. Fuck.”

Robb’s fingers curled and Theon panted all the more, rubbing himself harder between his arse and missing prick. ‘Please’ became a babbling plea as Robb quickened his pace. He felt Theon tense around him with a cry and Robb held Theon through his pleasure. Robb knew nothing of eunuchs and if they could experience pleasure without the root and stem. But something clear and wet met his hand and dull joy flushed red across Theon’s cheeks. His mouth hung open, gasping. Robb kissed him soundly for it.

_Robb._

He pulled back suddenly, and Theon stared at him in confusion. _Talisa?_ Robb shoved the thought away with the rest of them, and dunked them both back into the springs. He kissed Theon as the water fell between them. This time, he heard Theon laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your kudos, thoughts, and comments are always appreciated. If this were a modern AU Robb would just be playing Billie Eilish's "Ocean Eyes" on repeat. Meanwhile, Theon would be listening to "Breathe Me" by Sia. XD


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that everyone has a secret or three.

 

_ “I met with Bran. He… saw some things, about me. He knew who my mother was.” _

_ “Jon, that’s… a good thing, isn’t it?” Robb searched his brother’s eyes and Theon knew the truth. Jon wasn’t from Eddard’s loins, but those of another Stark. That’s why Jon had come with eyes so weary, though burning with anger. He came to see Theon, angrily pacing the floor, complaining that Theon had it wrong the whole time. He wasn’t a bastard. Now Robb knew, too. _

_ Jon rubbed his knuckles across his face and cleared his throat. “My mother was Lyanna Stark.” _

_ “What?” Robb took a step back in shock. Theon imagined Robb was running through the possibilities. “And… your father was...” _

_ Jon hesitated. “Rhaegar. Rhaegar Targaryen.” _

_ “ Targaryen,”  Robb repeated. Jon raised a pacifying hand, seeming ready for any reaction. He was afraid of how Robb would react. He might scorn him and denounce him. He might tell the Northerners. “When Rhaegar kidnapped our aunt, he--” _

_ “He did not,” Jon said quickly, shifting. “That’s what I thought, but I didn’t want to believe it. Bran looked, however it is he can. Aunt… My mother and Rhaegar married in a secret ceremony performed by the High Septon. The marriage to Elia was annulled. Your aunt died… giving birth to me.” _

_ Robb stood frozen for a moment that stretched so long Theon thought it might never end. But only a beat later, Robb pulled Jon into a tight embrace, one hand on the back of his head. “You’re still my brother. Now you’re also my cousin.” _

_ He pulled back to place his hands on Jon’s shoulder, mocking older brother returning. “...Does that make the Dragon Queen your aunt?” _

_ “Aye, it does,” Jon said with an exasperated huff. “I’m not a Snow, Stark. I’m a Targaryen.” _

_ “You’re more than that,” Robb said seriously, crossing his arms. “You’re heir to the Iron Throne. Our father was never disloyal to mother. He was protecting you from Robert’s men. Robert’s rebellion, all of it was a sham.” _

_ Jon ran a hand over his face. “And what am I supposed to do with that? My whole life, wondering who she was.” _

_ “She was a good woman, loved dearly by all. And you’re still a Stark.”  _

_ “Do you think Daenerys Targaryen is just going to call off her war and bend the knee because I’m her nephew?” _

_ “More like to slit your throat for it,” Robb concluded. They were serious now, so Theon shrunk back. This was talk for men. _

_ “And the North will hang me because I’m the damned grandson of The Mad King.” Jon’s face was tired and Robb looked at him with sympathy. _

_ “You’re Jon, same as always,” Robb said, looking Jon in the eye. “I don’t care if you’re a Targaryen by blood, you’re still a Stark. The pack stays together.”  _

_ “I haven’t told Sansa.” _

_ Theon’s mind started to wander as Robb and Jon debated the situation. Theon already knew how it would go, as it always did between them. Robb would win, though Jon  has gotten more stubborn since The Wall hardened and rounded him at the same time. The debate would only start again once Sansa knew and they would not be prepared for this grown Sansa. But Theon did not like that Lord Baelish followed Sansa everywhere. He even came to see Theon. Littlefinger told him that he would be killed if he stayed, but Lord Baelish could help him. Littlefinger did not expect for him to laugh and say, “I would welcome it.” _

_ \-------------------- _

“I’m humiliated,” Robb flushed, an elbow across his eyes. Theon removed his better hand from Robb’s sleeping breeches and rolled onto his back, savoring the touch of Robb’s fine furs. He let his right hand drift in the air before the fire, his three fingers searching for warmth. 

“It’s alright,” Theon said, and he meant it. 

“No, it isn’t,” Robb countered, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at Theon with his cheeks red. It’s only been of late he’s had cause to think about sex again and now his body betrayed him. This wasn’t supposed to happen to  _ him _ . “Talisa is japing with me for taking another to my bed. A man, at that.”

Theon open his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. He searched his thoughts before settling on, “We’re on the floor.”

Robb snorted and leaned over the thinner man to kiss his pouting mouth. When he pulled back, he drew fingers over the raised scars across his chest. He’d never seen torture like this before, not any a man lived through. Theon closed his eyes while he reached for the fire, letting Robb map this new body. Robb asked, “You’re not disappointed?”

Theon cracked open an eye at him. “Yara took me to the brothel. I’ve been there a hundred times. And all the naked girls in front of me could’ve been Old Nan for how much they stirred me.”

Robb made a face. “Does it… is it still pleasing for you? What we’ve been doing?”

They’d been doing quite a lot lately: fondling in dark corners of the castle; Theon on his knees, breaking fast on Robb's cock; Robb’s tongue tracing the curve of his ass. They’d done things Robb had never thought of doing, but Theon seemed to have ideas. 

“I like your lordly cock in my mouth,” Theon finally said with a small quirk of his lips and Robb stared. It was the most lewd thing Theon had said since they met again and it shot straight to his prick. “...It takes more, to want it. It’s not like before. But it’s not bad.” 

“Not bad,” Robb groaned again, his pride sulking. “You seemed to like the hot springs well enough. What is that… that spot that gets you bucking so?”

“You’ve got one, too, you know,” Theon pointed out, running the back of his hand down Robb’s arm.  “Take your fingers behind your balls and stroke there. Or let me stick a finger in your arse and I’ll show you.” 

Robb blushed and Theon chuckled at him. He’d always been shy about it any time Theon had brought it up. It didn’t seem… becoming, having another person enter him _. _ A small part of his mind hissed,  _ I’m a man,  _ but Theon had always been as well. Though even Talisa had complained that Westerosi sex was dull… perhaps it was Robb who needed to learn. His cheeks grew more flushed, so he buried his face in Theon’s neck and nipped at the flesh there. “I missed your laugh, your grin.”

“None miss this grin,” he said softly, eyes closed. “Only a creature smiles this way.”  

“I like it just the same,” Robb replied as he bit Theon’s shoulder playfully. The ironborn had gifted Theon with a new set of teeth raided from their enemies’ still warm bodies, and Lady Yara thought it was clever.  _ Never seen sailors with smiles so fine as this lot _ , and she laughed like a man with a freedom Robb envied. Lady Yara gave him a devil’s grin and gloated,  _ We’re ironborn, we take what we need.  _ Robb, fists clenched to hide his embarrassment, reminded her that he decided where their need starts and ends. Lady Greyjoy turned her back on him, laughing casually with her men as if he never spoke at all. He later heard that Lady Yara had asked the Maester to construct a set from cow bone and gold. 

“I’m disgusting.” Robb looked to Theon’s face, tense brows wrinkling his forehead in the firelight. It was a quiet self-loathing, not the hateful kind of one’s self-disgust leaking out. Theon didn’t rage at himself in the night, cursing his naivety. Not like Robb did. Theon took a tale he heard and made it his truth. His words carried naught but resignation. 

“Hear me,” Robb said seriously, guiding Theon’s gaze back to him, fingers running along his jaw. “I’m not here out of pity or to trick you. I don’t keep my head without you.”

Robb thought Theon almost rolled his eyes then. 

“I always wanted be like my father and lead with honor, do my duty to kin and my people. But sometimes it’s folly. The world isn’t honorable. Duty can lose you a war. After I sent you to Pyke, I couldn’t handle it all. When I heard what you’d done… it all started to unravel. Even my mother betrayed me. I should have kept you at my side.” 

Theon flinched and looked away, clearing his throat. “You’ll need a lady wife and heirs. You’ll be Warden of the North, or King again. Jon is a Targaryen, he’ll need to go south.” 

“Jon is a son of the North, dragon’s blood or not. The rest…” Robb didn’t want to think of the rest. Honor and duty called him again, but to listen further made Robb feel eyes on him, watched, something dark waiting to get at him. He saw shadows sneak by and heard Talisa call his name. He breathed deep and focused his eyes on Theon’s pale face.  “The rest can wait.” 

“As my king commands,” Theon murmured and turned on his side, his hand gently guiding Robb’s mouth to his own. Theon kissed him slow and deep. Robb breathed in clove and sweat, tasted salt on his lips. Theon cradled his jaw as he rolled his tongue across Robb’s. He was swept up in the feel of him, muscle starting to slowly to cover bone, skin hot from the fire, and he could not restrain himself from grasping Theon under the arms and pulling him onto his chest. Theon lay flush against him, and Robb ran his fingers through his short hair, grasping what he could, a heady growl escaping him. He could drown in Theon, meet his damned sea god. Light and smooth as a maid, his beard rough against Robb’s own, and he wondered what Theon was now, because he did not feel like his lady wife nor the boy he’d first approached in the godswood. A man who cannot further his House is no man in Westeros. Theon pinched Robb’s nipple hard between two fingers and kissed a line down his neck. Robb hissed in response, mind quieting.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Theon tensed and released him. Robb got to his feet reluctantly and sighed in annoyance as he threw on a robe. He cracked the door open, “What is it?”

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, the Lady Sansa wishes you in the Great Hall to sentence a criminal,” a soldier said. They still called him Your Grace no matter what he said. Once a king always a king, lords told him, some as they implied he usurp Jon. He dismissed the man and closed the door, his heart racing at the thought of the soldier seeing Theon half naked on his furs. If he had stepped in… A small panic started in his heart. If the news spread.  _ Robb Stark hung for sins against nature.  _ What would his father say? His mother? And with Theon...

“You know what this is about?” Robb asked suddenly, shaking himself from his thoughts. 

Theon had the guilty look of a little boy about him. He’d been hiding something from Robb. As Theon pulled his undershirt over his head, he said, “She… was worried. About a traitor. I told her to talk to Bran. He sees things.”

They dressed quickly and made their way to the hall. Sansa and Arya waited there for them, Jon arriving at the same time. Jon looked equally confused. Robb scoffed, “You were summoned, too?”

“Now our sisters are conspiring,” Jon muttered. “Gods save us.”

“What’s this about sentencing a traitor?” Robb asked. Theon seemed to disappear behind him, the way servants do, and it added to Robb’s irritation.

“Traitor?” Jon’s attention snapped to Sansa, not without a subtle glance in Theon’s direction. Theon had his hands behind his back, quiet and listening, back straight. He’d been playing the role of his sister’s adviser in recent days. 

“Executing,” Arya corrected Robb, her hand falling to her little dagger, the one Littlefinger gave to Bran. “His guilt is clear.” 

“Yes, Bran made it all quite clear,” Sansa said calmly, but it held a danger that Robb did not think his fair sister capable of. “I’m going to sentence Lord Baelish to death.” 

“And I’m going to slit his throat,” finished Arya. 

Jon and Robb exchanged looks, but before they could speak, Sansa continued. “It was Littlefinger the whole time. Everything. Jon Arryn’s death, father’s betrayal, even the man who tried to kill Bran. It was all Littlefinger. He killed our Aunt Lysa, and he was trying to play Arya and I against each other, too.”

Robb saw red, his vision narrowed and he growled low, “Where?”

“He and the Knights of the Vale are on their way. Rickon is fetching Bran. Lady Yara and Lord Tyrion will watch, as well. The Lannisters did not cause father to go South.” 

“The Kingslayer pushed Bran from the tower!” Robb shouted, pacing like a caged animal. He felt as one. “They executed our father and they slaughtered our mother, my wife and child. Our uncle lays dead in the Riverlands. They’re spared no guilt; their part was done. If there is a sentence to be had, then I will swing the sword.” 

“And I spent years in King’s Landing playing Cersei and Littlefinger’s games!” Sansa shouted back, rising to her feet, hands pressed into the wood of the table. Robb swallowed the guilt that stuck in his throat and stepped back. His sisters had been trapped in King’s Landing because he could not rescue them. 

“Enough,” Jon hushed them both. “If father saw you acting this way, he’d thrash you both. In case every one of you has forgotten, I’m the  _ King _ .”

“Your Grace,” Arya bowed with a grin, and they all shook their heads at each other. Rickon and Bran entered the hall then, Osha pushing Bran. 

“Is it all true?” Robb questioned Bran as he and Rickon joined Sansa at the head table. 

“He held a blade to father’s throat. He said, ‘I did warn you not to trust me,’” Bran’s voice, the same empty tone it always held since his return from North of the Wall. Robb might be sick on the stones. It was all for nothing. The Starks and the Lannisters could have gone on their separate lives forever if not for Jon Arryn’s death. A swift end was too good for Baelish. 

“You two were trapped in King’s Landing because of all this. You’ll take what honor demands,” Jon judged. Robb opened his mouth to protest when he felt Theon’s hand on his shoulder. When he turned, Theon gave him the slightest shake of his head. Robb scowled and shook him off, taking his seat at the table next his sister, the chair slamming too hard into the floor. 

“I will see his head on a spike,” Robb spat. The room soon began to fill. Lords of the North, Lady Brienne of Tarth, The Onion Knight, and their guests on behalf of the Dragon Queen. Soon the Knights of the Vale and Lord Baelish strode in. He seemed aware of nothing, for how he stood, casually smirking about and leaning against the wall. Robb could smash his traitorous head into those stone with his bare hands. When his eyes fell on Lady Yara, he noticed Theon was not with her. 

“You stand accused of murder,” his sister began and it took all of Robb’s restraint not to interfere. He watched as Baelish begged pathetically at the feet of every lord and lady he once knew, cried as a mewling wretch of his love for Sansa and he glanced at his sister. What had she endured? Within moments, Arya had sliced his neck open with his own blade. She had no emotion on her face as she did it, and Robb felt the depth of her change from a boyish girl playing knights to a lady grown a killer. But Littlefinger’s death did little to quell his anguish. It would not bring his family back. 

The body was dragged away and the crowd dispersed, sated by the spill of blood. Sansa and Arya slipped out together and he wondered if they were now starting to get on. Lady Greyjoy sank into a chair next to him and motioned for a servant girl to bring her ale. Yara brushed her finger tips down the girl’s arm, a bright blush spreading across the girl’s cheeks. “Thank you, love.” 

Robb shook his head. A family trait. She slammed an ale in front of him and it sloshed on the wood. She waved a dismissive hand at the Stark guards; they looked to Robb and he nodded them away. Lady Yara leaned back in the chair, her feet on the table as she indulged in her drink. “It’s good for you.”

“What is?” Robb asked, grabbing his drink with a frown. Jon and Tyrion were preparing for Daenerys’ arrival and Robb’s head still rushed with blood. _ None of it had to pass. If only my uncle had killed Baelish in that duel.  _

“My brother already has a limp. None will be the wiser,” she said with a laugh. 

“I remind you that you’re a lady,” Robb grumbled bitterly, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. “You enjoy your secret too much.”

“No, Your Grace,” she mused with a smirk, “I enjoy your red face and repressed prick. Greenlanders.”

“How do you get away with it? Your men  _ know,”  _ Robb said quietly, glancing at the guards’ retreating backs. 

She shrugged. “A woman is a woman, we’re there for the taking in the eyes of you lot. What’s it matter if it’s another woman doing the taking? Half my men want to tuck me in at night like a baby girl, and the other half get off to my orders in their bunk. But none question their Captain.”

“Loyalty,” Robb scoffed. “Among reavers?”

“You know nothing of the ironborn. You think us flies to be swatted from your silver platters and golden goblets. You call us savages and slap down our raids without ever the offer of grain or milk for our starving babes. My people come from the sea. Descended from the merfolk themselves, they say. We wither and die too far from the Drowned God’s halls. But your family took a boy of the sea and let his soul dry to leather among your ice and dirt. You spoiled him, made him a right cunt. You Westerosi are no less cruel.”

“Us? My father taught Theon what honor was. Ser Rodrik taught him the bow and sword. Maester Luwin taught him the same lessons as I. It was not my father’s teachings that made him a traitor.”

She shifted, swinging her legs down, and leaned forward on her elbows. “He was the baby, you realize. Theon wasn’t born to be heir. Not like you were, taught of a warden’s responsibility the moment you breathed air. He had two older brothers with a claim. He was a soft boy, quiet, more interested in his mother’s company than reaving. Our brothers tried to beat the Old Way into him, but it only made him all the more meek. And then, my baby brother came home from his time with the wolves. The women, the arrogance, the japes. It was a little boy pretending to be his older brothers, the ones his father loved.”

Robb took note of the weight in her words, heavy with sadness and loss. He tried to remember when he was a child, first meeting Theon. He had caught him crying once, when he thought he was alone, the second night in Winterfell. He was crying for his mother, not knowing Robb had snuck up on him. When Robb asked him what was wrong, he wiped his face and said he’d left his favorite axe on the Islands and now he would not be able to kill his first enemy with it. At first Theon talked little, but then it was of nothing but ships and the sea and legendary warriors and creatures from the deep. As they grew, he talked less and less of it. He talked about the bow, the hunt, the women he’d taken to the godswood, how they would be lords together. Robb shook his head. “He wasn’t a boy when he took Winterfell, when he slaughtered two children. He was with your ironborn when he did that.”

“Aye, but it was because of the Starks he took Winterfell,” Yara observed. “Theon was dead to our father the moment he left with Ned Stark. I knew it. Theon was too young to see it. He came back green and stupid, still worshipping our father like a little boy. The ironborn follow those who prove themselves. Theon came back drunk on your laws. I cannot hate my brother for his misdeeds. My father should have killed Theon before allowing him be taken from the sea.”

He supposed the sea was their godswood. Robb did not think Theon took it all quite so dramatically as Lady Yara put it, but Theon would never say if he did take anything personally. “He’s been training with you?”

“Of a sort. He’s fit enough to hold a sword again, but only well enough with two hands. He’d do better to take the axe than the sword, it’s lighter. He could learn the bow again, if he wanted to.”

“You don’t think he does?” Robb asked skeptically. A part of him could not imagine Theon without a bow in hand, but had he not seen Theon forsake his own name just weeks ago? 

She leaned over her drink, thoughtful. “He humors us, that is all. I wonder if my brother really is dead.”  

“He’s getting better,” Robb insisted, wanting to believe it. His wounds have healed, he’s gaining back his strength. He remembers who he is.  _ Is he humoring me? Does he see it as another order given him, and he obeys?  _

“He has gotten better at hiding that he is not better,” Yara snorted. “He’s a shadow of the little shit we both knew.” 

“Is that always a bad thing?” Robb said angrily. “The little shit we both knew  _ betrayed  _ me. I thought he murdered my brothers.” 

“My brother was a great archer. A great archer would be outside day and night relearning his skill, no matter what it took. Theon would not eat if no one ordered him to do so. Or mayhaps he’s been too busy swallowing cock instead.” 

“Do not press me, my lady, my temper is not as easily cooled as it once was.” 

“Do not lie to yourself about what you do with my brother. You lack the courage to fuck him in the light of day.”

His chair clattered against the ground, struggling to stay upright after Robb thrust it aside as he rose to his feet. “I will finish my ale elsewhere, my lady.” 

Yara kicked the table back from her and stood, ale in hand. “Prudish and self-righteous, you Starks.” 

The walls thundered suddenly then and they both dropped low, hands instinctively on their weapons. The very stones hummed under his hands and he had never heard such a sound in all his time in war. Powerful, beastly, ancient. His heart was loud in his ears, but Lady Yara only looked tense. He ground out, “What is that?”

“My comeuppance, I suspect,” she muttered with a strange amount of intrigue in her voice. Lady Yara looked at him seriously then. “That is the Dragon Queen.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	10. Two Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragon Queen arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Aside from work being super busy, I've been so stuck on where to take this fic! Writing Throbb h/c while trying to progress Season 7 is way harder than I thought. XD But if I keep worrying whether I'll get it right or not, I'll never write anything! So here's to the risk. 
> 
> Grab your towels, and don't panic.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy what you read. Thank you for taking the time!
> 
> Terribly sorry, forgot to add the reader opinion yesterday: Jon, Sansa and Dany are looking for love if they're going to rule... who should it be? Jon/Sansa? Jon/Dany? Sansa/Dany?! Dany/Yara?! Something else?!

The sound was even more terrible outside of the castle walls. Robb stood his ground before the gates of Winterfell, the wind from the beasts nearly knocking him to the ground. Four of his siblings stood at his side and Jon at the lead, ahead of them all. Every eye in Winterfell was trained on the two dragons casting dark shadows over the courtyard. Archers stood with arrows nocked, but their bows pointed toward the ground. His breath caught as he noticed silver hair in the sunlight. _The Dragon Queen is the rider. Like our direwolves. Does she dream through their eyes?_

He had no words for the sight of dragons. _This is how the Targaryens ruled._ Their wings could span twenty men, easy. A horse but a mouse under their claws. A man would rend easily in jaws so large, and Robb’s stomach seized to imagine fire erupting between teeth long as his arm. _Stand firm. Do not let them see you flinch._

As they circled lower, he noticed something caught in the claws of the larger dragon. Long cuts appeared along its hide and he noticed both dragons carried riders. _Three, she is said to have three dragons._ His heart sped and his eyes narrowed. A moment later, the beast opened its claws and a large sack thudded to the ground. The bag squirmed and rolled.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Sansa whispered in a rush, glancing toward him. Arya was tense, her hand at her pommel. Bran looked on, his face revealing nothing but a calm that sent a shiver down Robb’s spine. The two dragons landed heavily, roaring at all the men that dared stand before them. He stared down one’s open throat and felt panic rise. _Not now. Nothing will happen._

Men all around him cowered and shook, but they stood their ground. He heard Sansa’s startled cry and glanced to see her mouth return to a stoic line. Rickon looked like he might collapse with fright, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of Bran’s chair. He saw Jon take one shaking step back before he stood tall again.

Each dragon lowered a winged arm. A few men tumbled down into the snow, dressed in winter furs. One hugged the ground and kissed it. The others seemed to be finding their footing.

“The Hound!” exclaimed Arya, taking a few unconscious steps forward. _Why does she seemed pleased? Wasn’t it The Hound who killed her little friend?_

He heard a small noise from behind him and noticed an almost surprised look on Brienne of Tarth’s face.

A man leapt first, helping a woman, dark in skin and hair, down from the large dragon. The Dragon Queen herself was next. He had heard of her beauty, of her silver hair that would not burn. She strode forward, her face flushed. Her eyes were fierce, but wet. The man, who must have been Jorah Mormont, stayed a few steps behind her. She straightened her shoulders and wore the black of her House, dragons clasped at her throat. She approached Jon immediately, sparing not a single glance at her surroundings. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and First Men. I am the Mother of Dragons, and I lost my child today to bring you this.”

The men wrestled the struggling bag forward. Sandor Clegane took it in a giant paw, pulling a dagger from his hip. Arya’s eyes narrowed at the sight before her.

“The Brotherhood Without Banners,” Arya muttered to Robb. She turned to him. “They worship the Lord of Light.”

 _R’hllor has plans for you._ Clegane slicing through the thick cloth pulled Robb from his thoughts. A screeching sound came from the gaping throat of the creature that rolled from the tear in the sack. No limbs, no arms nor legs. It rocked and it hissed some horrible song from the gashes in its neck. It was rotting, half skeleton. The men burst out in gasps and shouts.

“What monster is this?!”

“They’re real! The King in the North speaks true!”

“By the old gods…”

Jon stared openly at the wight before looking back at Daenerys. “You went north of the Wall.”

“A red priestess of this Lord of Light had a vision of brave but stupid men in need of rescue. She thought I was called to see the truth beyond the Wall. If it was a lie, I would oust you as a fool before the North. If it was not…”

She seemed to hesitate, to compose herself. “It was not a lie. I saw the King of the Dead and his army. They’re coming. I could not count the numbers and I could not save my dragon from his spear. Bend the knee, and will we fight together.”

Before Jon could answer, Sansa had stepped forward. “Let us not keep any longer outside the walls. This is talk for mead and meat before great fires.”

Robb noticed Jon hesitate, some part of him captured by the Dragon Queen. This was his aunt and she had delivered him a wight, proof of his claim. She had laid down a dragon to do it. _The Night King killed a dragon on the first battle..._

“See these people are housed and bathed before a meal is set. My lords will hear you and we will feast to your arrival and the loss of your… child. I’m Jon Snow, King in the North.”

 _King in The North! King in The North! King in The North!_ Robb rubbed his eyes and found Sandor Clegane looking him in the face.

“One of these fire fuckers sew your head back on after the Freys tired of it?” The Hound asked, wind blowing his hair out of his grotesque face. He caught the look in Robb’s eye and grunted. Clegane looked at his sisters both. “Little Bird. Girl.”

The sisters shared a look before Sansa said, “You protected my sister, the way you tried to protect me. In your own crude way. You’re welcome here.”

“Didn’t ask,” he replied bored, as though he hadn’t been on the back of a dragon dragging the living dead over the Wall, nor addressed by a highborn lady. Robb was irritated by his disrespect, but Sansa only looked amused, as if they shared some jape he did not know.

“You’re not dead,” is all Arya said, appraising him.

“Who’s fault is that?” he retorted, then looked toward Lady Brienne. “You bring this giant’s whelp home to protect you?”

“I needed a few friendly faces,” Arya replied mysteriously. “She beat you, and she saved Sansa.”

“A skin of wine beat me, too, and dead fucks tried their go.” Clegane gave Brienne another look, one Robb thought might have been respect. At footsteps crunching behind him in the snow, he said, “And don’t go thinking of your little list neither.”

Arya’s eyes flicked to the two other men who rode with Clegane, but she said nothing. A bearded man with light hair and a thick beard and a man with an eye patch returned. The bearded man stared too long at Robb and gave him a lopsided smile. Robb felt his stomach turn, though he could not say why. Too many men knew, they could see death on him.

Robb watched Jon lead the way back into the castle, the Dragon Queen at his side. He noticed her fists clenched, white and threatening to spill blood, and he was fascinated by her. Grief was left plain in her wake, but her face showed no emotion as she passed. Robb heard tale she was a woman of fire, but with her silver hair and cold stare, she seemed Lady Winter.

Later, changed into thick lambswool and the fur cloak Sansa sewed him, Robb made for Winterfell’s walls. The feast was starting, but he had no appetite. Theon had found another way to hide himself from Robb. He watched the dragons soar in circles against the darkening sky, crying out into the night. _They mourn their dead brother._ An ache rolled into his chest with a memory of Grey Wind. Thoughts of his son did not trail far behind when he recalled The Dragon Queen’s words, “ _I lost my child today.”_

He turned suddenly, hand at his dagger, only to see weary eyes a shade of violet he had not glimpsed outside of the springs of his youth. Daenerys Targaryen looked at him impassively. “I did not think a king startled so easily. Is your brother more steady in his nerves?”

“Had I been startled more, I might be King yet,” he said, sheathing his knife. “I’m sorry, for your child.”

Her look was almost startled, “You do not think them beasts?”

Robb clenched his jaw, leaning onto the stones. After half a cask of wine, Tyrion had confessed the Dragon Queen thought herself barren, the dragons the only children she could have. “I lost a child. Half the North feared he would be born part wolf himself. My bannermen killed him before he ever saw the world. My own face does not look so different, I imagine.”

“...I’m sorry, for what happened to your family. I know the betrayal of men.”

“Robert wasn’t wrong to dethrone your father, The Mad King, who set my family to fire. But he was wrong to murder the innocent, the children. My father did not approve.”

She turned her head to brush a gloved finger along her cheek. “On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your family’s forgiveness for the wrongs of my father. Do not judge his daughter on his acts.”

He could not say he would judge her no more than he judged her nephew, his brother and cousin. “After what you did, I could not think you the same.”

Silence weighed heavy on them both. The tale had already spread like wildfire through the castle. A red priestess saw a march on East Watch in the flames and told of R’holler’s followers questing for a way beyond The Wall. Once she collected them, it seemed easy enough with three dragons to retrieve a wight, should they be real. He heard of a spear so thick with ice it tore the throat out of a dragon in a single blow. Still, Daenerys brought back the proof the world needed; she came to save The North, she said. It had been decided that Ser Davos would smuggle Lord Tyrion and Lady Brienne into King’s Landing with the wight in hopes of gaining Cersei’s support. Robb had protested they could not trust her, but Jon and Dany both had seen the dead’s forces. In the pit of his stomach, he wondered if the body of a dragon burned itself to ash or remained for The Night King. It was a foolish choice to risk showing a dragon to an army that could raise the dead, but he would not disrespect a woman in mourning.

She interrupted his reverie. “Hm, I had not thought I would find myself with so many apologies for the family of those in open rebellion to my crown.”

“How will you mourn?” he asked, not acknowledging that Jon had refused to bent the knee. Though Robb had seen the doubt flicker in his dark eyes. This was his family, his living aunt, and she was young as he.

“By killing The Night King and burning his armies into ash,” she replied evenly. He stared at her. She was so unlike his lady wife, the woman who scolded him like a lordling for sending men to their deaths. He could see the vengeance in her, the black rage that clung to one’s heart after betrayal. She wanted the world to know her name and that she would not yield. “I will swear you that.”

They could not avoid the topic of sovereignty forever, but he was glad to do it tonight. “Were you harsh with Lady Greyjoy?”

“She would enjoy it too much,” Daenerys hummed, avoiding an answer. She did not trust him to reveal such things.

Lady Greyjoy had kept Lord Tyrion trapped here, forcing the negotiation of dragon glass. He sailed with ironborn and they would listen to none but Yara. The woman drove him to fury but she loved Theon. “She is loyal to her blood. You cannot fault her that.”

“I only need her to be loyal to me,” she sneered, “As I do the rest of my subjects. Though he looked at me as the slaves did when I broke their chains. Do his missing fingers bring you satisfaction?”

“His betrayal brought me no joy. His torture even less.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him. “I did not know a captive could betray his captor.”

“My father was good to him, raised him among his own children. Not once was he ever mistreated here. He was my brother in all but blood,” Robb snapped, not knowing where this sudden anger leapt from. His father was a good man, honorable.

“Does your sister feel that way toward the pretender on the Iron Throne?” she asked then. “I would not think so. I didn’t enjoy being sold to the Dothraki so my brother could secure his power, no matter how fine the horses, the protection from him. A prison draped in silks still has no escape.”

Robb thought to answer, but alarms sounded in the yard, shouts ringing out. His drew his sword as a reflex. “Stay behind me.”

She did not question the order, only followed with her brow furrowed. Their footsteps echoed on the steps down from the walls and into the courtyard. They made their way into the Great Hall, Lord Mormont the slaver looking far too relieved to find his Queen. Someone stamped a great mug of ale at the head table and the startled lords froze at their seats, staring toward Jon Snow. The hall quieted.

“What is this?” he demanded as ironborn soldiers threw three men to the ground. _Those are our own men._ Yara Greyjoy held up a severed head by its dirtied, matted hair. Blood dripped from the neck and Robb felt sick thinking of his own head held in someone’s hand. She dropped it with a thunk on the table, fury in her eyes. Jon stared down at it, not comprehending.

“I know him,” Sansa said slowly. “He was a guard under the Boltons. Now he wears the Stark helm.”

“Why have you restrained our men?”

“Ask the sacks of shit yourself. They need only confess before their King and I will slit their throats myself,” Lady Yara snarled, bearing her teeth.

Sansa swallowed, glancing about the Hall. “Where is Lord Greyjoy?”

Robb did not need to hear more. He stormed from the hall, not a one dare stand in his way. Words rose and faded, he heard little but his heart.

Lady Yara’s anger reached his ears, “They tried to humiliate him.”

He followed the blood in the hall, the guards lined to keep prying eyes away. Two ironborn men rubbed their jaws and stood under guard, lances blocking their path. A boot peeked out from around the corner, from a small hall leading to a storage room. Robb did not think he could breathe as he stepped out and saw the headless body on the ground. Blood pooled where his head should be and the man’s cock had been sheared off, lying limp and shriveled beside him. A Stark man groaned as the Maester pressed white cloth blooming with red into his side.

And at the end of the hallway, against the door, stood Theon. His eyes were shut tight, one swollen from a fist and already turning dark. His clothing was torn, his jerkin slashed open and breeches unlaced. On the floor at his boot, a bloodied dirk. As Robb looked closer, he could see blood drip from Theon’s gloved hands. It covered him everywhere, face and undershirt. But it was not his. Theon panted, sucking in ragged breaths and when he heard the Maester rise, his good eye shot open and he fell to his knees, scrambling for the dirk and pushing back against the wall. He held it pointed toward the Maester, eyes wide and unfocused. The guards pressed in to protect the healer but Robb shoved them aside. Theon made a wild swing toward him with a shriek and Robb had no choice but to bring the butt of his sword down on him. _I’m sorry for this._

Theon crumpled to the ground, and Robb spun to press his heel into the wounded soldier’s gut. The man screamed as the white disappeared into red. “Stop, bloody fuck, stop!”

Robb did not. “You’ve got only moments to tell the honorable truth before you meet your fate.”

“We was just messing with Re-argh! L-Lord Greyjoy!” he hollered. “He’s nothing but the Bastard’s pet rat. The damn turncloak who took your castle to start!”

He slammed the dying man into the stones by his cloak. “Moments.”

“We was just gonna beat him and have some fun. Wasn’t nothing we hasn’t done before! He _likes it!_ Had half the damn yard in hi--” he choked under Robb’s fists, coughing and sputtering. “But he went mad, cut Durwin’s fucking cock right off and did me next. He was asking for it, honest. Everyone knew what Ramsay kept him fo--”

The man no longer had the opportunity to speak, for Robb slit his throat then and there. He shook in rage, trying to calm his breath, wiping his sword on a cloth. He put a hand on the Maester’s shoulder to ensure he was well, and Robb sought escape from the walls closing in on him.

“Take Lord Greyjoy to his room. Under guard.”


	11. Flushed Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb realizes he can't keep hiding from war.

_ He watched his King slump against the walls of his bedchamber. The Blackfish sighed. Cat’s boy, young enough to be foolish and in love, old enough to lead men to battle. Even with his follies, he’d have made a better King than the fools that have been sitting there since Robert’s rebellion. The boy had a mind for war, but he had been raised by (the almost) honorable Eddard, who took his niece, and honor had little place in Tywin Lannister’s heart. Robb needed time to grow, learn that a man’s responsibilities come before the wants of his loins. A lesson learned hard. _

_ Brynden Tully had thought grief, guilt and wine brought him a vision of his dead nephew, but Robb’s haunted eyes lifted in the torchlight and he howled like the wolf they all thought he had been. He had clutched the boy to his breast as he sobbed, “I should be dead. Why aren’t I dead?” _

_ The old man shifted, unsuited to comfort. “You going to sit there until you die again and rot my halls?”  _

_ “They had no right,” his said, voice cracking, head leaned against his two clasped hands. Robb’s beard ran long and tangled. He refused food and drink. He refused to leave his chambers. The men started to talk, rumors of the cursed king, doomed to haunt the Riverlands of his failed cause. _

_ “Every Frey in Westeros will find himself fucked with a Tully sword for their treachery,” the Blackfish promised. _

_ “The priest. He had no right to bring me back. Did he bring back my wife and child? My mother?” _

_ “You are still our King.” _

_ Robb surged at him, shoved him back against the wall and Brynden let him.  _ Best the boy get it out. 

_ “I am no one’s King! The King of Fools, more like. I scorned an old man and he slaughtered us. I didn’t see it. And I betrayed my oath. There is no honor in this world,” he growled as tears leaked from his eyes. Robb unhanded him and stood, defeated. “I’m sorry. My folly isn’t your fault.” _

_ “Save your grief for Tywin Lannister and plunge a sword into his throat,” he urged his nephew. “Your sisters still need you.” _

_ Robb only shook his head and leaned against the wall before the window, staring at the water below. “I want to go to them. I should be with them, Uncle. They cut off my head like they did my father. I want to be with them. I want to see my son.” _

———

“You sent them to The Wall!” Robb hollered as he slammed open the door to Jon’s chambers. Jon looked up at him, in the middle of dressing and nodded at the two soldiers who followed Robb in. The door shut quickly behind him and Jon pulled his long locks back from his face.

“I did.”

“They attacked Theon, a highborn lord. They should be hanging in the winter air as a warning to the other Bolton men,” Robb protested. They were going to rape him, and by the way the man spoke, Robb wondered if they hadn’t before.

Jon worked at his belt. “We need every man we can get if we’re to stand a chance against the Night King.”

“And what if they decide to try their luck with Sansa?” he challenged and Jon hesitated.

“Lady Greyjoy made a bold enough show when she dropped a severed head on our table. Theon killed a man. They aren’t like to start trouble again.”

“If you trust those men, they will betray you,” Robb warned, voice low and his blood hungry for vengeance. “A strong hand now-“

But Jon rounded on him, three steps and they were chest to chest. When had he gotten so tall? Jon’s fury could match his and Robb didn’t remember him so easy to provoke. “Dammit, Robb, you’re not the King anymore!” 

“And what’s that to mean?” 

“Those men out there chose me to lead them when you stayed in the Riverlands. We all thought you were dead. Either you want your crown back or you accept the orders of your King. You can’t always get your way anymore.” Jon spat at him, chastising him. His cheeks flushed pink with anger and Robb felt his own face turn hot.

“Get my way?” Robb hissed back, burying Jon’s barbs under fury, pressing into him. Anger was better than shame.  “Did I get my way when you left for The Wall? When you stayed while Father lost his head? When they murdered me at the Twins!”

He regretted the words as they left him, but it was a long buried hurt, one so petty and childish and unfair he had never dared speak it before. The hurt was clear in Jon’s eyes, but Robb only grit his teeth.

“No. You didn’t. Did you think I would follow you always? You already had everything, the honorable mother and father, a highborn lordling, heir to Winterfell. You even took him—“ Jon stopped abruptly and shook his head. Old wounds, old jealousy. Those little human things honor had never permitted them space to admit.

“Is this about Theon?” Robb asked then. 

“We don’t have time for-“

“We can bloody well make the time. You left for The Wall... I always thought it was because of mother, because of your status.”

Jon turned from him and looked to the fire. Neither could meet the other in the eye. “It was. I was never going to be more than the bastard of Winterfell. But then, just once, I had the eye of someone over you. It was a boy’s fancy. We chased you, Robb, we both did. And we rutted around like animals when we couldn’t get you. Until you took notice of him.”

_ And not me _ , Robb thought he heard. “Jon...”

“I can’t fight you and The Night King both, Robb,” Jon said with a sigh. He was tired, his brother looked so tired. “I know half the men out there want the crown back on your head. I can only lead them with your support. You never lost a battle. I know you think yourself a failure, but you aren’t the only one who was betrayed by his men, who lost someone he loved. I left the Watch after I gave my life to it. The woman I lov… people die in war, Robb. We’re just the ones who came back.”

Robb rubbed his face with a hand and put his hands on his hips. He was being selfish. He let Jon take the whole burden himself so he could hide from the war. Robb clucked his tongue, shuffling his boot at the dirt on the floor. Shame coursed through him like it replaced his blood. First proper fight they’d had in years. “I’ll lead your armies and you keep your crown. We both know you’re the rightful heir.”

The silence hang there a moment longer, before Robb confessed, “I wish you’d stayed.”

“I know,” Jon said. “But I couldn’t. Unnatural thoughts of my highborn half-brother and my father’s highborn ward, who had secretly taken to bed together? There was enough shame being a bastard, let alone… whatever that is. The world wasn’t made for our hungers.”

Robb froze, stunned by Jon’s confession. Had it been lust, the unspoken things between the three of them? He’d always known he’d loved his half-brother, Jon. Did he seek him so often for more, the way he had Theon? What did that mean  _ now _ ?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the prisoners,” Jon said as he laid a hand on Robb’s shoulder. “You’ve always been protective of him. Of all of us, really.”

He wordlessly pulled Jon to his breast.  _ I can’t hide anymore. _

After he wore himself to weariness training in the yard, Robb let his feet carry him to Theon’s chambers. He’d been sleeping off the Maester’s potions until midday when a servant girl told him Lord Greyjoy was awake. Two ironborn men guarded the door. Lady Greyjoy did not trust her brother’s safety to Stark guards. They opened the door for him without fuss.

He waited for it to close before he sought out Theon. A fire was lit and he saw Theon sitting in the chair before it, shoulders wrapped in fur. Robb cleared his throat. “Are you hurt?”

“Had worse,” Theon croaked, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t remember attacking you. I’m sorry.”

“You missed by a yard, I’d hardly call it an attack,” he said with a smile, settling to his knees on the stone next him, looking up at his swollen face. “Do you remember what happened?”

Theon blinked, seeming to think on it, before he looked at Robb with confusion. “You hit me.”

Robb rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly. “You still had a knife.” 

“Do they want me hung?” he asked. Of course he asked.

“You defended yourself against an attack. There’s no reason to hang you.” 

Theon ducked his head down. “You met the Dragon Queen?”

“Aye,” Robb said. He dreamed of her silver hair in the night sky, lit by the moon. Then he dreamed of fire. “She’s won Jon over fast enough.”

“He bent the knee to her?” 

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t thought of it. She is very beautiful.”

Their eyes caught for a moment before Theon looked away. He opened and closed his mouth.  “...She is. But she’s his aunt. Jon is too honorable to let such a wanton thought pass through his head.”

_ That word again, honor.  _ What would Theon think to know Jon had thought of  _ him _ that way… unless he already knew. Shoving aside the thought, he told Theon that Jon wants him to lead the armies against the dead. They’d even had a row. Robb smiled up at Theon, examining his face. A black eye and gash at his brow. “I’m proud of you. You fought them.” 

“I’m a coward, I know it,” Theon said quietly, “But I couldn’t… I remembered the dirk. I’ve enough fingers to use a dirk, in my left. I almost dropped it. I cut one down and shouted. Yara’s men, they heard me. Th-they helped me. They didn’t have to help me…”

Robb let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You’re their lord. Of course they would help you.”

_ “The ironborn will turn on Theon. He’s an outsider, my father’s ward. They don’t know anything of land warfare. Who would take Winterfell before securing the Neck? Offer them amnesty. No one kills Theon Greyjoy before I do.” _

“They had right to leave me to them, for what I’ve done,” he said. 

“Theon--”

“Jon will need your counsel. Daenerys is his blood… he’s been waiting for her his whole life. Don’t let him forget who he is.” 

_ When had Theon grown wise?  _ Robb placed a hand on Theon’s knee and reached to touch his cheek. The moment Robb touched him, a shudder ran through Theon and he flinched back as though burned. He shook violently and held his arms up in front of him, eyes squeezed shut. He whispered in a rush, “Please, don’t.” 

Robb dropped his hands. 

Theon swallowed. “The war needs you. The dead are coming.” 

_ You need me,  _ Robb thought, but he also thought of Jon and the realm. He thought of Daenerys and her lost child.  _ This is where marrying Talisa left me before. War all around and in the middle of it, our hearts. Am I making the same mistake?   _

“You have to be smarter at politics,” Theon said quietly, somehow knowing Robb's thoughts. He stood then and made his way to the window. Robb stared at his back. He wouldn't turn around. _Look at me, damn you._  “You can’t be distracted this time.” 

“What are you saying?” Robb asked. 

“You should go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever just start writing one thing and then suddenly your characters have feels and it's something different? Well, that happened. Bit nervous about this.
> 
> Any thoughts on final ships for this fic? I mean, Throbb aside.
> 
> Thank you as always for your kudos, comments, critiques, and most of all, for taking the time to read!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is fair in love and war.

_“You can’t be serious,” Sansa said, her expression hard. Jon was starting to get used to that look._

_“I am,” he replied calmly. Why did the North name him King only to send his siblings… cousins… to frustrate his every decision? He had not asked to be King any more than Eddard Stark’s bastard. King in The North, Heir to The Iron Throne. He felt he would go mad if he gave it more thought._ Like my grandfather...

_Why was he brought back at all? Some Prince seen in flames when his own brother rose from death just the same?_

_“You can’t bend the knee to Daenerys. You’re the rightful heir and King in The North,” Sansa pressed. She used to turn her nose up at him and pretend he was a stablehand instead of her brother._

_Jon leaned his hands against the heavy wood table he saw their father sit at a hundred times before. He always seemed to know just what to do, but kings and lords know little more than anyone else. “We have to trust each other. She laid down her dragon for the living. Cersei doesn’t matter. Who rules doesn’t matter, as long as we band together to stop The Night King.”_

_“The Night King may as well be your lover the way his name jumps from your tongue,” she complained, grabbing his arm. She had Lady Catelyn’s eyes, Ygritte’s eyes, and his stomach clenched. “You can’t believe that once all is said and done it doesn’t matter who leads. Everything is a game to people like her. She cares to win it, and you’ll let her. Robb didn’t come back from the dead just to see you hand over the North. I didn’t come home just to give it away.”_

_He could smell her hair so close as she was, fire red. Jon looked away. “I am not giving up our home. There will be no North to save if she takes her dragons and flies south. She has armies of Unsullied and Dothraki both. We need the numbers.”_

_“The Dothraki?” she laughed. “The horse men belong in the desert. They’ll die before the month is out. What do the Unsullied know about fighting in the snow?”_

_“We can’t win this war without more men!” he snapped, shaking free of her and pounding his fist on the table. She startled and recovered. She’s no girl any more than he’s a boy._

_“Tyrion said Cersei has accepted the offer of alliance after seeing the wight, but you can’t trust her. I know Cersei. Why should Daenerys be different?” she asked gently._

_There was something about her, in the way she grieved for her dragon. She didn’t have to listen to him or a fire priest. She could have taken Winterfell in minutes with her dragons, forced him to bend the knee or burn. “If she wanted to rule the North by force, she would have done it by now. Trying to have two rulers leading one war will only split our forces. This is the greatest war we will ever face, Sansa. These aren’t men. Swords, clubs, axes... they bounce off the dead. Only dragon glass, fire, and what, three damn swords in Westeros will kill them. Every man we lose, we give to the dead’s army.”_

_She watched him, studying him. “The North won’t follow her.”_

_“Aye,” he grumbled. “I have to tell them the truth of me.”_

_“Jon, they might kill you.”_

_“Then make sure you burn my body,” he said with a wry smile and she shook her head with her own quirked lips. He almost told her not to let anyone bring him back again. Cold stabbed him every waking moment since his heart stopped beating, an oathbreaker’s knife with each breath. Only Robb understood. “Sansa, I’m not underestimating her. Or you. But the war with the dead is the only thing that matters now.”_

_“Are you sure there isn’t something else about her you like?” Sansa asked. He would think she was teasing him if her face was not so serious._

_“She is my kin,” he replied, defensive._

_“Then you wouldn’t mind if Robb took her hand?”_

_He bristled, cursing himself. The Targaryens never minded such pairings but the North surely did. Did he mean to imagine himself with his aunt or his brother? After falling in love with a wildling woman, he should have learned to stop wanting what he can’t have. If he didn’t learn as a bastard or a black brother, maybe he was meant to know nothing after all. Jon asked, “He’s taken with her?”_

_“Theon said he called her beautiful.”_

_“Aye, any man with eyes would call her so,” Jon acknowledged and Sansa raised a brow. “It doesn’t mean he’s ready to take her to the heart tree.”_

_“Theon seems to think so. They’ve been spending time together. If you married her, it would solve the problem. You’re the better match.”_

_“You’re trying to marry me off now?” Jon jested wearily, uncertain of why it slid beneath his skin and rubbed him raw._

_“I’m trying to save your life. Look what happened to father and Robb,” she stressed, an edge of desperation in her voice._

_“Aye, and myself, as well,” he sighed. He had hung Olly for it, just a boy. Theon paid for his crimes in blood and madness. Jon paid for his with a crown. Robb protected the Lannister boys, sent Karstark to the grave for what was right. Was it so different in the end? Dead is dead, except..._

_“You’re all too noble for your own good. Arya and I survived... it wasn’t because we were honorable ladies.”_

_“Sansa,” he said quietly, a hand at her pale cheek. “Father would be proud of you both. Your mother, too.”_

_“I would rather us all live than console myself with thoughts of their pride,” she said as her hands slipped around his neck, and she pulled him close against her. He cherished the warmth her touch brought with it. “You can’t die again. I forbid it.”_

———

Robb moaned, waking to find himself hard under his furs but what’s more, a wet tongue trailed up his shaft, taking him into a hot mouth. He rolled his hips, willing sleep away. Talisa?

He sucked in a breath as something wet dripped onto the head of his cock and he was lulled back inside. “Fuck.”

A strong hand squeezed the base of him and another cupped his balls, massaging them between deft fingers. Robb threw the covers back. Was this Theon’s way of apologizing? He fisted black hair in his fingers and saw Jon’s grey eyes looking back at him, his full lips spread around him.

“Jon?” he asked, confused.

“You’ve thought about it before,” Jon told him. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I...” Robb started, mind reeling. He brushed his fingers through Jon’s curls. Soft. “I don’t know.”

“You do,” a high feminine voice said. Daenerys. She was naked, half under the furs, and she guided his head to her breast. He licked the hard bud, pressing it down with gentle flicks of his tongue. She gasped as his teeth nipped her sensitive flesh. “The war needs you. I need you. Would you have me marry my nephew? You’re the best match in Westeros, the eldest Stark son, beloved king who vanquished even death. Take the Iron Throne with me.”

“Yes,” he groaned into her chest, licking his way her to neck, her jaw and capturing her mouth. He panted as his hand curled back into Jon’s hair, forcing his mouth to swallow him faster, deeper. “No. It’s Jon’s throne. His birthright. Damn you both.”

A wet smack as Jon lifted his head, his hand pumping Robb hard and fast. “We need to focus on The Night King.”

“The bloody Night King,” Robb huffed, voice heavy with lust and he’d come soon if they didn’t stop. Daenerys twisted his nipple and kissed his neck.

Laughter broke into his thoughts. He shifted his gaze. Two figures in the dark, they stared at him. Judged him. “Who’s there?”

“Forget about him, love, we’re the shameful mistakes he’s made,” a taunting voice, light and confident. Theon.

“He is handsome, though. His seed planted in my belly hardly a moment after the wedding. Or maybe it was before. Did he tell you how he took me on the floor of his war tent, a highborn lady unwed? I hated stitching his men back together, but...”

Talisa?

“Oh, he’s been proud of his cock for many years, isn’t that right, Stark?” They became clearer and he felt shame rise to his cheeks. What were they doing? Theon ran his hands down her arms.

“Stop it,” he demanded, pushing Jon back to his knees.

“Father’s perfect boy. Best little lordling in the Seven Kingdoms. He’d run his little castle well, they all said. They thought he’d be a better King than a Lannister bastard. Til he chose us, anyway.”

Talisa pressed flush against Theon, leaning her head against his chest. “No wonder he’s been thinking of them. The realm and the perfect lady wife.”

“We had pretty faces, though,” Theon laughed and kissed her. “Lord Eddard never broke an oath for a pretty face. Let his only leverage against the Iron Islands go. Married some foreign woman and turned his back on his lords.”

Robb swallowed. “It wasn’t a mistake. I loved you.”

“Our son should have his fourth name day this year. Instead even his mother doesn’t live. And look at this poor creature.” Talisa turned Theon’s face to him and he was a mess of blood. “Flayed until he can’t remember his own name. Love treated us all very well.”

“You should go,” Theon said through broken teeth.

Robb shouted and shot straight up into his bed. Only the embers of the dying fire lit his room. He was alone. He wiped the sweat from his brow, dropping his dagger onto the furs next him. He tried to catch his breath. “A dream.”

It was past the hour of the wolf and he was drinking himself stupid at his father’s seat in the Great Hall. He once thought, ‘Even my father, the greatest man I have ever known, broke faith with his wife.’ He brought home a bastard not of his mother’s womb. He never told Jon such a thing, of course. He could not. It gave Robb permission, an ounce of it, to fail at his perfect honor. But he had seen what Jon’s presence had done to his mother, and when his want and grief caused him to throw his oath away, he knew he would marry Talisa. He would not dishonor her the way his father had dishonored his mother and Jon’s alike.

But Ned Stark’s honor was not tarnished. He never broke his oath to his mother. He lied to everyone, especially Jon, denied him his birthright, but to protect him from Robert’s sword. It was done out of love. Does a wrong deed done for the right reason make a man less guilty?

“I know few men who have done such a thing without a selfish reason behind it,” a woman’s voice said.

He fiddled with the rim of his mug, sparing only a glance at the Dragon Queen. Jon’s aunt. Did that make them cousins? He was too drunk to draw the lines. “Not my father. Ned Stark, the most honorable man I’ve ever met.”

Why did it sound so bitter? He loved his father. Idolized him as if he were a god himself.

She was sitting, he realized, wine in her hand. Her cheeks flushed red in the fire light. So he was not the only one who sought solace in a drink.

“Why do you drink, my lady?”

“It is too late in the evening for you to mock me. Or early,” she drawled, taking a long sip.

Robb shifted in his seat, staring into his ale. “I mean you no disrespect, but you are not my queen.”

She hummed like she knew something he did not. Perhaps she did. Robb had paid more attention to his guilt than the world as of late.

“My father was not so honorable,” she said.

“And your brother, Rhaegar?”

“Those who knew him thought he was valiant and noble, a true future king. I had not the opportunity before Robert Baratheon murdered my House to keep his throne,” Daenerys said evenly. How could she sound so calm and not burst with rage? “Not that I imagine you would believe it, after what my father did, what Robert accused my brother of doing.”

“I believe many things I never thought possible,” he muttered into his drink. Surely Tyrion had shared news of Robb's resurrection with his Queen.

“I wish I knew how they did it then, perhaps I would have my son today and my husband,” she said quietly, more to herself than Robb. “But mayhaps not my dragons... A quandary, I suppose.”

He stared at her then. “You lost a son?”

“Blood magic is powerful, but wielded by a witch it brought my husband back from the brink of death a warm husk,” she hesitated, brushing a hand over her stomach. “She murdered my husband. My son died as well before he ever had the chance to see the world.”

He had no words to offer her but he knew her pain, perhaps less so, as he could not feel a child grow in his belly the way she did. But the guilt behind her words he knew too well. It was he who killed them, after all, if not by his hand, by his choices.

“Do you want to die, Lord Stark?” she asked then. “Are you angry you could not when they did?”

He cast his eyes down and said nothing.

“I threw myself into the pyre with him. Not to die, no, I had an idea of what would happen, of what blood magic required. I had no guarantees, but when you have lost everything, what is a thing such as risk? I didn’t burn. My children were born instead. I think I was born again.”

His head swam and he pinched his brow. He had tried to throw himself in the river, but he had already been brought back. He had no say in it. He had no mad plan to bring dragons back to the world, he only wanted to see them again. Would he have done it, spurned Frey for Talisa if Theon had not taken Winterfell? Would he have noticed her if he had still been buggering Theon in his tent, or passed her by? None of that mattered now. He wasn’t sure he knew what did matter any longer. “How have you done it?” he asked. Her voice was honey and she had somehow laid his secrets bare. “Found your purpose when it was all lost?”

“I chose myself.” She made it sound so simple. “Against all of it, I have always had myself. And that is all I can count on.”

“All I have done, I have done for my family and justice,” he said quietly. Her hand was on his and he looked into violet eyes. She walked through fire to mourn her lost love and create life where there was none. Talisa left a slave city, but Daenerys freed a slave city. She had been betrayed and she did not hide in a castle feeling sorry for herself.  
  
Their lips met and Robb felt himself falling, the way he had the night Talisa tore his clothes off, the way he took Theon against the war table, breeches at their ankles, and sent him away soon after. He opened to her and thought, _I need a lady wife, he said._ To have someone offer him their strength for a moment, and perhaps he could make things right. The dutiful son takes a wife, not a husband, not a man.

But it was Theon’s smirk he thought of, his solace he wanted when everything was ruined, someone who always let him be just a boy.

_“What are you crying about now?” Theon complained, only two and ten and irritated with Robb’s angry tears. He was hiding in the stables after he botched his first task in front of his father’s people. He forgot the proper words, the order, the ceremony of welcoming the people and hearing their complaints. It was a small thing, his father assured, but it will be righted the next day._

_“I’m not crying,” he grit out through his clenched teeth, balled fists on his thighs. “I can’t do it. It’s too much. I embarrassed Father today and in front of a visiting lord. Jon should’ve been the trueborn son, he would remember the words.”_

_“The bastard couldn’t remember the words if you wrote them on his eyelids,” Theon yawned, bored. “You remember them now, don’t you?”_

_“Yes, of course,” he growled, hitting his legs. He knew the stupid words, he did know them. He just… everyone was looking at him._

_Theon cuffed him lightly and ruffled his hair. Robb threw up his hands to shoo him away. “Worry not, little lordling, you’re the good son everyone thinks you are. Just picture the girls rewarding you for your job well done and you’ll find a right quick way to focus.”_

_Robb laughed despite himself. Theon always said things like that. They were lewd and funny and made him feel like a normal child and not the heir to Winterfell._

His fist hit the table and he snapped back. “I’m sorry. I cannot.”

“It is not often I am kissed with another in mind,” she japed lightly. “Have I read you wrong?”

Robb shook his head, sobering for a moment. “I have been lost in myself for some time and your beauty and strength captured me, I cannot lie to you. But I made a promise once to another and broke it. I cannot do this again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reveals the truth to the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I hope this is okay, I didn't furiously edit, rephrase, rewrite and then panic about using a specific word too many times quite as much as usual. 
> 
> End Plot Question: One cumulative battle in King's Landing against Walkers and Cersei/Golden Company/Euron or deal with Walkers first and Team Lannister later?
> 
> I honestly am not sure why Jon is so polyamorous (and incestuous) in this verse, it just sort of happened. XD But if you want to read about Theon deflowering Jon in this 'verse, you can here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16290008/chapters/38495327
> 
> As always, I thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read. I truly appreciate it. 
> 
> Any thoughts on ships or handling future canon events is welcomed. I know pairing Jon with anyone is divisive and I certainly can't promise to write the best GoT ending. XD I'd like to do my best, tho!

_“Why are you here?” Theon asked, looking at Jon warily. He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, near the fire._

_Jon found himself moving past Greyjoy to look out the window at the snow below. Every time a fog drew near or a chill took him, he wondered if the Night King would appear. Hard Home haunted him more each day. His stare was resolute in its coldness, the way he looked Jon in the eye and doubled his army with the rise of his arms. But even that was second on his mind tonight. He was supposed to tell Daenerys he was a Targaryen raised a Snow. Since Sam was supervising the mining of dragon glass and Davos would return from the South on the morrow, here he was. “Your attack came under my watch. I came to see you had what you needed.”_

_Theon didn’t answer for a time, before he said, “Your lying isn’t any better than when you were three and ten.”_

_“It’s no lie, but a half truth maybe,” he admitted, turning to look Greyjoy over. He was still thin, but less so. His eye was fading into purples and greens, the swelling from his wounds gone. His tawny hair was unkempt, but clean. Jon remembered pulling him down from the cross in the Winterfell dungeon, skeletal and flayed. “You look… better.”_

_He seemed to cringe at the words, but said nothing. Theon ducked his head down, hiding his hands from sight. “My sister isn’t here.”_

_“I didn’t come looking for your sister,” Jon sighed. “...I can’t hide the truth from the North.”_

_Theon glanced up, surprised. “You’ll really tell them? They could kill you for it.”_

_“We need to work together if we’re to stop the dead,” Jon said, the certainty clear in his voice. “We have to be honest with each other.”_

_Greyjoy was quiet, brow furrowed in thought. He swallowed. “What will you tell Daenerys?”_

_Sansa had convinced him, marrying Daenerys was the only way to end the divide between the armies. He thought of their long conversations in the night, how she had shown him her dragon and the connection he felt the moment he touched its scales under hand. She had come to him and confessed she had thought of marrying Robb, for the politics of it. The North would follow Robb Stark and he had no interest in the Iron Throne. As long as he had his family close, he would not threaten her rule. She said with a small smile that he was handsome and Jon had never disagreed with that. But Robb had spurned her, she said with a laugh, secretly glad of it and shocked that she found two men whose honor was unquestionable. “The other,” she had said as she stepped close, her fingers ghosting his face, “is you. You care for them, for all the realms and the people in them.”_

_She was not Ygritte, nor any others with red hair he knew... Jon leaned back against the window sill, his arms crossed. “The truth.”_

_He watch Greyjoy in thought, his eyes not altogether there. “She won’t bend the knee to you.”_

_“I know,” he said. “Not after everything. But she might rule together, if she doesn’t slit my throat in my sleep.”_

_“But…” Theon started._

_“I know,” he said more tersely, and Theon quickly looked at the ground. “The North won’t follow me if I marry Daenerys, not once they know I’m a Targaryen. I’m the grandson of the Mad King and she’s his daughter. She’s my bloody aunt.”_

_“You’re still a Stark.”_

_“Robb has returned, the king the North really wanted.”_

_“And betrayed,” Theon said grimly._

_“You would know,” Jon replied darkly. Theon gave a meek nod. “But Robb isn’t marching south this time. He’s defending his ancestral home, which he has a blood right to.”_

_Greyjoy was quiet for a moment. “You… you both always knew what was right. Robb, just like his father. Honorable until the end. He always knew who he was. But you… even though you’re… you were… you always do the right thing.”_

_Jon shook his head. What he had done to Ygritte was not so different from what Greyjoy had done to Robb. The regret bit at his heart like hungry dogs. “It’s not true. It may look that way, but it’s not so.”_

_“I never knew what was right. Stark or Greyjoy, it seemed impossible to choose. But you know.”_

_He’d never seen a man look so defeated as Greyjoy did in that moment. Even when he had found him delirious and near death, gurgling around blood to apologize and beg. Jon pushed from the sill and sat next to him on the floor. “Our father was the only true father we had, of his loins or not. If you call me a Stark, then I would call you one, too.”_

_“You don’t know--”_

_“Your sister is a good woman. Our father was a good man. You don’t have to choose.”_

_“Then you don’t either,” Theon said after a silence, his voice low, gaze rising from the floor. “You’re a Targaryen and you’re a Stark. You’ll pull them together, all of them. I know it.”_

_Jon shook his head with a small smile. Never did he think he would be here with Theon Greyjoy, bonding like brothers instead of fighting like petty children or fucking drunk and thinking of Robb. “If I survive tomorrow.”_

_“A knife to the heart didn’t kill you,” Theon mumbled._

_“It did,” Jon said quietly. “That I know, it did.”_

_Theon peeked at him, fidgeting with his hands, debating. “...I did things. With Robb. Like we used to.”_

_“I noticed,” he replied, leaning his head back against the wall. He could tell by Robb’s manner when he returned from the hot springs with Theon. He remembered that look._

_“I stopped it,” Theon said quickly, nervously, as though Jon would strike him at any moment. “He needs a lady wife, to focus on the war, and… I’m not… I’m not fit for...”_

_Jon watched him for a moment, waiting. Theon never said what he really meant. Not at first, anyway._

_Theon noticed his stare and looked at him again. “I can’t. I can’t stand to be touched. I want to jump out of my skin. I’m a coward.”_

_“I can’t undo what’s been done to you, and I can’t undo what you’ve done yourself. What I saw on that cross…” Jon paused. Few things churned his stomach and made him retch, not after everything he’s seen. But Greyjoy with half his chest and leg peeled, his hands nailed to the cross, the mangled scars over every piece of him, the incoherent ramblings thanking the man who placed him there... “I can’t say I would have survived it. I’ve seen torture, but what Bolton did to you was something else. You might have been an arrogant shit, Greyjoy, but you weren’t a coward. You survived. That’s what the North needs right now. Survivors.”_

_Theon sniffed and looked away. After a moment, “...If Daenerys doesn’t think a Northern ruler would have interest in the South, she might let the North go...”_

_“What are you saying?” Jon asked, knowing._

_“Make him a king again,” Theon said._

\---------

A small cough drew his attention before he entered the Great Hall. They were all gathered to hear news from their King. Jon had decided to tell the North the truth of his parentage, though he knew little more than that. He had tried to meet with Robb to tell him something, but the day was too long with arrivals. Robb paused in his step and turned to see Brienne of Tarth standing before him.

“Lady Brienne,” he greeted. She disliked the title, but he had failed to find one better suited to her station.

“Brienne, please, Your Grace,” she said for the thousandth time, bashful as ever for a woman who could best almost every knight in Winterfell. Though Arya tried to hide it, she was trailing after Brienne, finding excuses to train with her. He grew fond of the sturdy woman, the lady who had forced him into a boat against his will and rowed out as the Lannisters stormed Riverrun at the behest of his fool uncle. Around her, his little assassin sister could still be a girl with wonder in her eye. Though he questioned her fondness of the Kingslayer and the lovestruck gaze she tried to hide when she spoke of him.

“You have need of me?”

She drew her sword from her belt and laid it flat across her palms before him. “This sword belongs to you.”

He stared long at it, the lions at the hilt and glean from the steal. Valyrian steel. He knew she received this sword from Jaime Lannister, to protect his sisters. He suspected from whence it came. His father’s great sword Ice never left King’s Landing. He noticed it the moment she drew it, training her squire, Pod, but he had said nothing, seething, too ashamed to claim it.

“If you are to lead the armies against the dead, you will need a sword that can stop them,” she said. Her honor was unyielding. Robb hesitated, lost in the times he’d seen his father swing that sword, every talk his father gave him of the responsibility of it, that it would one day be his.

He met her eyes with a nod and took the steel into his hand. Surely, he’d rid it of lions by end of day, but he would find her a sword worthy of her deeds. Robb turned it in his hands, feeling the weight of it, knowing she called it Oathkeeper. The balance was second to none. He removed his own sword and handed it to a guard for return to the armory. “I thank you for returning my father’s sword to me.”

She returned his nod, before turning and entering the hall. Those who sailed south to treat with Cersei returned. They came with new and unusual friends. Two wily, angry women warriors from Dorne and a dark haired boy Arya had not stopped following since he arrived, the bastard of Robert Baratheon. Arya called him an old friend, and he felt the need to keep an eye on him. Perhaps he would test his smithing skills to learn more…

Manderly clasped a hand on his shoulder with a hearty laugh and led him inside. Jon and Daenerys sat side by side with Lord Tyrion, Jorah Mormont and Yara Greyjoy to Daenerys’ right and an empty seat to Jon’s left, then Sansa and Bran. The rest of the Stark siblings and Daenerys’ counsel sat at tables adjacent. Theon met his eye for a moment before looking away. Robb stomped down everything that came up in that glance and took his seat beside Jon.

Jon leaned in, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Whatever it is can wait,” Robb dismissed. He worried for Jon's safety, even though he had doubled the guard. Even Daenerys may not be safe. “This is more important.”

Lady Mormont stood impatiently, ready to begin the proceedings, glancing every now and again at Lord Mormont. Jorah had chosen Lady Mormont to continue as Lady of Bear Island, for he served a Targaryen and had brought dishonor to his family.

Jon glanced at him again. “Just recall I tried to tell you.”

 _Did Daenerys take the news poorly? He’s still alive…_ Robb wondered, not understanding.

“My lords,” Jon began. “The dead are almost upon us. We must trust each other as we head into this fight. I never wanted to hide a truth from you, my lords, but my brother Bran has seen things of the past and the records of the High Septon himself confirm it.”

The murmurs already started.

“I am not Eddard Stark’s bastard.”

Shock passed over the room as a great wave and men jumped to their feets, yelling erupted, and startled gasps filled the hall. Jon held up his hands to pacify the crowd. They remained at their feet, but they quieted.

“Lyanna Stark,” Jon said, pausing, his voice heavy. The lords and ladies of the North looked about each other. “She was not kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“That was the whole damn reason Ned joined Robert’s rebellion!” Glover hollered. “If what you say is true, how did the lady die in the South?”

“She died giving birth to me.” Robb ached for Jon, to share such a sad truth with so many. “Rhaegar Targaryen, my trueborn father, had his marriage to Elia annulled… so that he could marry Lyanna Stark, my mother.”

Robb thought he might never hear again over the din of Northerners losing their shits collectively in his hall. The moment Bran spoke, however, they all fell quiet. Some revered Bran as if he were an old god himself. He had been touched by them. “They were in love. She left the North to marry him in secret. But Robert would not believe it and our father did not know. As my Aunt Lyanna died, she asked my father to protect Jon’s identity, whose true name is Aegon Targaryen.”

Robb watched Daenerys closely, who glanced down briefly before looking up with a hard gaze.

“I knew Eddard Stark never dishonored Lady Catelyn!”

“He’s not a bastard at all…”

“The Mad King’s blood is who he is.”

“He’s the fucking King of the Andals. The Iron Throne should be his!”

Robb stamped his heavy tankard on the table and growled low at the lords, “Enough.”

The room settled again, and Jon continued, “I know this is much to take in, my lords, and no one is more shocked by this news than I am. My father… the only one I ever knew, honored his sister, by hiding my true name from even me. You chose to follow me thinking I was a bastard. I ask that you follow me still.”

“You want us to rejoin the Seven Kingdoms?” Lord Manderly questioned, skeptical. The mood was clear in the room: none wanted to follow the Iron Throne again. “With your own brother risen?”

“I do not,” Jon said clearly.

“And what of this silver queen?” asked another lord.

Daenerys stood then. “You do not know me, I know this. But I have already lost one of my dragons for the North. I will send my armies North to bolster your forces. My dragons will burn the dead, and ...together, we will end the Long Night before it begins.”

“I will marry Daenerys Stormborn and we will fight together, as King and Queen.”

Robb felt on edge with so much chatter, so many lords weighing their options, debating if this was worth it, if this was wise. It was easy to see the North was not going to bend so quickly.

“We will not follow the Iron Throne again,” said Lady Mormont through the noise. “We know no king but the King in the _North_ , whose name is Stark.”

It amused Robb how easily grown men fell behind the young lady. She might be Queen one day herself. Robb looked to Jon, uncertain of his next action. By all Robb’s expectations, they were taking it well. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Theon staring at him.

“No, the North will not,” his brother said and Robb eyed him with curiosity. “As you say, Lady Mormont, the North is a special breed, untamed by southern rule. That is why, when the battles are done, Robb Stark will be King in the North again.”

He froze at the words, aware of the eyes of the North on him. Silence fell over the hall and a hundred heads turned their gaze on him. _Seven fucking hells, Jon, this is what you wanted to tell me_. They would have a word after this. What other choice did he have but to address them. How had he not addressed them sooner, for the deaths he caused? “You named me King once, and I failed you. I never had to lose a battle to do it. I think every moment of the men and women we lost. My mother and father were among them. My wife and my child, too. But this is my home and Winterfell has always been my place. I will not fail the North again.”

“My mother died fighting for you,” Lady Mormont continued. “And I would lay my life down for yours. No amount of gold will tempt House Mormont.”  
  
Lord Manderly drew his sword. “I will recognize The Dragon and The White Wolf in the South, and I will follow The Young Wolf to my end, as it has been for generations between our Houses.”

He tried to calm his wild heart. He had expected more of a fight, but they had all seen the wight, perhaps this calm would rally them. Perhaps--

The doors to the Great Hall were thrown open and Maester Wolkan ran in, his face a white sheet, horror plastered there. “News ...from Eastwatch-By-The-Sea...”

The crowd parted for the healer and he handed a scroll straight to Jon. Robb leaned in to see the words. Jon paled at what he read.

“The Wall… has fallen.”


	14. The Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb has a plan to save the North, but he needs Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. Not dead. Thanks for reading! :)

_ “You’re amazing!” Robb said in awe the first time he saw Theon with a bow. It had only been days since he came to Winterfell, but Robb followed him everywhere. He was tired of being the oldest and having only Jon to play with. This quiet boy was older and he could shoot a bow better than Jory. He came from far away and talked funny. All the lords warned his father to be harsh with Theon: he’s from a family of traitors and savages. But Theon wasn’t mean, not really, his father just didn’t teach him how to talk and behave like a proper lord. Besides, savages couldn’t possibly shoot a bow like that. _

_ Theon blinked back at him, startled and suspicious. “W-why are you spying on me?” _

_ “I wasn’t!” Robb exclaimed. “I was just watching you.”  _

_ Theon gave him a look like they were the same thing. They were alone in the yard, everyone else headed in for the midday meal. Robb beamed at him. “You knocked your own arrow out the center. Even Jory can’t do it like that!”  _

_ The older boy’s cheeks turned bright red, but he coughed and plastered a grin on his face. “O-of course I did. I’m the best bow on the Iron Islands. Ask anyone.” _

_ Robb made a face. “You’re the only one here from the Iron Islands.” _

_ His smile faltered for a moment and he turned away quickly, retrieving his arrows from the ground next him. “Then you’ll have to believe me.” _

\---------------

The Dothraki were bawdy, unruly and wild, much like the free folk but with skin darkened by constant sun. It was clear they were not used to the cold, nor were their horses. A group of the fastest riders met them at Winterfell while the rest of the Dothraki and Unsullied continued North. Now here they were, at Robb’s gates.  _ My gates… they still feel like they are my father’s. Am I still a boy playing at war? _

“They say they have brought a gift for us,” Daenerys translated, an eyebrow raised in intrigue. “Two men.”

Robb let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword; Jon and Sansa were still on their way. Suddenly, two men in hoods with hands bound at the front were shoved through the Dothraki crowd and placed before them in the yard. Two giant Dothraki men pulled the hoods from them and Robb could not decide if he wanted to laugh or rage. 

“Kingslayer,” he said lowly. He was no longer so fair haired, grey peppered into his beard. Robb could admit the Kingslayer was handsome, but he preferred him covered in shit as his prisoner rather than shitting his father’s gold. 

The Lannister tilted his chin upward and Robb remembered leaving Grey Wind to snap at his throat. “Is this the dead we’re to fight? The ghost of the Boy-King in the North? Or wait, it’s your bastard brother who’s king now, isn’t it?” 

“Always a clever word from you, Kingslayer, but I’m no longer a boy, and your father is dead. Your children are dead. Your brother is a traitor and unless you’ve had a change of heart, I see no reason to spare food and ale for the likes of you.” He could feel Tyrion’s gaze on the back of his neck, but Robb could not forget the 2000 men that died to capture Jaime Lannister, nor that he set the pieces for Robb’s downfall. Karstark, his own mother. _ It wasn’t only Bolton’s knife to my heart, but the knives in my back the felled me. A bad omen, his showing up. I keep Theon here. I’ve forgiven him...  _

“Yes, well, aren’t we all happily surrounded by death together? I’d ask how you’re alive, but there are dragons overhead and an army of the dead on the way. It seems the impossible enjoys surprising me. Besides, we’re allies now, aren’t we?” 

“Jaime,” Tyrion said with an edge of caution. “I received no ravens about your men having traveled North.”

“That’s because this fucker here took off on his own,” a dark haired man with a battered complexion complained. Robb had not met him before. 

“I’ve seen you,” Daenerys said of them both. “If I recall correctly, you tried to kill me.” 

“Me or him?” the dark haired man asked, jerking his head at the Kingslayer. “Nothing personal, Your Grace, just doin’ me job.” 

“This is Bronn, a sell sword and one of the more interesting ones at that,” Tyrion supplied. Bronn opened his mouth again but Jaime’s withering look caused him to shrug instead. He carried a smug assuredness that rivaled the Kingslayer’s. 

“The Dragon Queen,” the Kingslayer said evenly. The King he slew was his new Queen’s own father and Robb noticed the air hang heavy between them. “How lovely to meet you without a dragon spitting fire at me. Your father also had a love of fire...” 

“Why did you come here, Kingslayer?” Robb asked pointedly, his skin itching to run Jaime Lannister through. “You missed my hospitality so?”

“Your… friends brought me here,” he replied, glancing about the place. “But I was headed here myself. I’ll speak with my brother, if you don’t mind. Somewhere with a fire and wine.”

Tyrion nodded to Daenerys and the men were freed soon enough and their arms returned. Robb’s jaw clenched at the thought of allying himself with the Kingslayer, but it was the deal that was brokered and he was not looking to complicate matters further. The Wall had fallen, a dragon had turned to ice, and they were all fucked. 

As Lannister passed him, Robb said with edge, “Tread carefully, Lannister. Winter is here.” 

\--------------

“You’re sure your brother can be trusted in this,” Jon asked Tyrion, his voice tinged with anger and frustration. The war council resumed after Tyrion’s words with the Kingslayer. None were yet comfortable with allowing him at the council. It all sounded a trap.

“You can never trust Cersei,” Sansa replied, sounding tired, bored,  _ as I tried to explain to you all _ obvious in her tone.

“I never thought Jaime would leave Cersei’s side, but in this… I trust him. He came here to warn us.” 

“We’re on our own to fight the dead,” Robb concluded, unsurprised by Cersei’s treachery but annoyed by it all the same. He met eyes with Theon; he knew who caused Bran’s accident just as well as Robb did. “We’ll deal with Cersei later.”

His eyes roamed the map of the North while he tried to block out the squabbling of too many lords and ladies in one war council. Lord Tyrion began to argue with Jon about confronting the White Walkers. Sansa pointed out the limited stores and it was Arya who noticed the obvious: 

“Every man slain on the battlefield is a corpse for the Night King’s army.”

“Precisely the problem with attacking them head on, as your dear brother… or is it cousin now? so deeply wishes to do,” Tyrion remarked. Robb observed the mounting tension.  _ Too many here who want to lead, too many used to power... or who grew to desire it. _

“I’ve heard enough,” Daenerys snapped, impatient and restless. “We’ll burn them down. Dragon glass pales against dragon fire.”

“You’ve already lost one dragon, My Queen,” Ser Jorah cautioned, “This will not be so easy as taking King’s Landing. They have seen your fallen one rise and it serves another now.”

Robb did not miss the darkness that flashed in her eyes. She thirsted for revenge, and Robb knew too well what those seeking blood could do. 

Jon approached the map. “Fire is the best way to kill them, but I have seen them bring a cold strong enough to put out flames in their path. It may not burn hot enough.”

“Something hotter and deadlier than fire alone,” Ser Davos added, hands politely tucked behind his back. For Jon’s right hand, he remained humble and Robb respected that. “That’s how Lord Tyrion took us at the Blackwater. Wildfire.”

“Would that even work?” Sansa asked. “We hardly know anything about them.”

They faded into the background as he looked over Westeros again. Last Hearth was most vulnerable if they took the King’s Road, but Bran seemed to believe they were coming to Winterfell.  _ “He knows I’m here, The Night King.”  _ Robb had spoken with each man who had seen the living dead. They came with a freezing cold out of nowhere, stronger than a man, but they saw wights shatter if their leader was killed.

“The Night King is who you should all fear,” Bran said in his quiet way. “As long as he lives, the war will continue.”

“Did we all momentarily forget they have a dragon now, as well?” Lord Tyrion asked in annoyance, his face then apologetic to his Queen. “I do not mean to pain you, Your Grace, but what is to stop The Night King from flying to King’s Landing and creating an army of  _ millions  _ with a dragon alone _?”  _

_ The dragon must be killed. If only there was a way to stop them before they reached an army.  _ Robb stood straight and rapped his knuckles on the table, an idea biting at him. But he could not be sure... 

Jon shook his head and cleared his throat. They all turned toward him. “We’re tired and hungry. We’ll restart in the morning.” 

Grumbles of agreement emerged from the group. As they all filed out, Robb placed a hand on Bran’s wheelchair, stopping he and Arya from leaving. “Go on, Arya. I’d like a word with Bran.” 

She quirked a brow and hesitated before disappearing through the door. It unnerved him how she seemed to move like a phantom in the castle, appearing from nowhere, gone just as quick. Robb shook his head and looked down at Bran. “How do you feel, about the Kingslayer being here?” 

“I don’t know,” Bran replied and Robb felt he spoke true, though not because the Kingslayer mattered at all. The last he had seen Bran, he had narrowly escaped the Lannister’s hands. He had wished for death without his legs. But now...

“I’ve hardly seen you since we’ve been back. What happened to you, Bran?”

“I became the Three Eyed Raven,” he said, impassive. There was no wonder or spite, not even the sulking he remembered from Bran. He sat still and wise and unfamiliar. Part of him seemed here, but another off in a dream or memory, Robb could not tell.

“You aren’t the boy I recall,” Robb clarified. “Are you still my brother?”

Bran seemed to think on it. “I am and I’m not. I remember what it all felt like, to be Bran Stark. But there’s too much more I remember.” 

Robb let the words sink in before he grabbed a chair and pulled it close. “Then did Theon kill my brother after all?”

“I died in the cave,” Bran said quietly and Robb’s brow furrowed, not understanding. “Someone told me that. I was Bran until I was more. I was always going to go North of the Wall.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, if that’s what you think,” Bran looked at him then. 

“I should have left more guards, I shouldn’t have let Theon go, I--” Robb stopped and breathed, trying to stop his alarm before it overwhelmed him. He had questions he needed answered. “I wanted to ask you… can we trust the Kingslayer?”

“He told Cersei that he intends to honor the promise to go North to fight the dead,” Bran said and it still chilled Robb’s bones that he knew it to be true. His stomach twisted when he thought of what  _ else  _ Bran could see. Their father’s death. The wedding at the Twins.  _ Theon. _

“You can see things that have happened and are happening now. If we stop the dead, Cersei will be next. Jon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. But I won’t go South unprepared again.”

Bran nodded, his gaze too knowing, too intense. “What do you really want to know?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robb scoffed, and he hated that he sounded so petulant. He shifted in his seat. Was he so obvious now? 

“You and Theon have been getting along,” Bran observed. Robb flushed. His little brother had the ghost of a smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t always control it, what I see.”

Robb’s hands turned to fists, embarrassment colored by shame spreading through his veins. Damn the affair, he needed to know. “ _You should go.”_ But… if Theon didn’t want him to… If he wanted nothing to do with him, he should honor it. He had more important things to think about. There could always be a way, without putting him in harm’s way… _Without trusting him._ _Family, duty, honor._ “How is he? Really?” 

“Do you remember the apple and the bow?” Bran asked suddenly. Robb looked up and made a face. He remembered, of course he did. Theon was reckless as ever, and Robb had been furious.

_ “Yeah, like that,” Theon said merrily, planting his feet firm and lifting his bow. “Good lad.”  _

_ Robb picked up the last of the practice swords and tried to peek around at who Theon spoke with. He rounded the corner just as Theon loosed the arrow--Robb followed it and watched with terror in his eyes as it flew toward Bran. As the practice swords clattered to the ground, Bran began to whoop and laugh, holding an apple in his hand with an arrow stuck right in it. Theon laughed as he watched Bran examine the fruit. “Told you then, didn’t--” _

_ He hadn’t the chance to finish, because Robb had shoved right into him. Caught unaware, he stumbled and fell back on his ass.  “What do you think you’re doing?!” _

_ Theon blinked up at him, startled, before annoyance flashed in his eyes. “What’s crawled up your cunt?” _

_ “You could have killed him!” Robb shouted, waving an arm at Bran, who stood still in confusion.  _

_ Theon snorted as he picked himself up, brushing off his leathers. “He was fine, wasn’t he? I wasn’t going to hit him.” _

_ “Robb--” Bran tried to say, stumbling forward with the apple. _

_ “Don’t you say anything. Mother would have your rear raw if she knew.” _

_ “But Robb--” he tried, quieted when Robb held up a hand and jerked his head toward the main hall. Angry, Bran threw the apple to the ground.  _

_ Theon opened his mouth to say something, but Robb shook his head. “And you, how is anyone supposed to trust you?”  _

_ He only had a moment to notice the hurt in Theon’s eyes before he turned and stormed away. _

“The arrow, that day,” Bran started. “It was blunted. It fell right out of the apple. It wouldn’t have pierced my leather.” 

He stared at his brother then and felt a right fool. It had never occurred to him. 

“Talk to him. Let him prove himself.” 

\---------

It was Yara Greyjoy that pointed him to the godswood, a cocky smile that must run in the family on her face.  _ “There’s something you should see.”  _

On his way to the weirwood, Sansa passed him with a smile. She held a bow in her hand. “Sansa?”

“He’s up ahead,” she said easily, her hair catching in the moonlight. The air was crisp with cold, but the night sky was clear and bright. The moon was almost bright enough to see by. “We’ll talk about it later.”

He watched her go in confusion, trying to wrap his mind around little Sansa Stark with a weapon in hand, not a song book nor poem. Pride and fear mixed in a discomforting tightness in his chest, but he followed the torch light until he saw a figure in the dark, a bow drawn. As Robb neared, he saw archery butts, the center eye filled with ten or more arrows. The archer loosed another and it landed swiftly in the center of the grouping. When he lowered his arm and leaned to take another shaft, Robb saw that it was Theon.  _ He’s taken the bow again.  _

“Nice shot,” he said then, stepping into the light. 

Theon jumped and nearly dropped his bow, but recovered and straightened. “What are you doing here?” 

“Spying,” he jested with a small smile, reaching for the bow he held. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Theon handed it to him and his sea eyes flicked to the fletching of his arrow before he swallowed. “You shouldn’t worry about me.” 

Robb inspected it, a small kraken in metal hammered into the yew. He noticed a small loop attached to the middle of the string and thought of Theon’s draw. It was different. “But your fingers…”

Theon’s sigh was long and resigned. He took the bow from Robb and showed him the archer’s ring he wore on his thumb. Robb tried not to stare at the missing fingers. He drew back with the loop and let an arrow fly. He made it look effortless, as he always had. “It’s a thumb draw. The Dothraki use it when they ride on their horses. A small change to the longbow and I can draw. Arya… she helped me.” 

“Did she?” Robb asked in surprise. “I thought she might be threatening your life.” 

“Yara taught her the finger dance in exchange,” Theon muttered and flinched, waiting for Robb to chastise him for letting his littlest sister learn the axe, he was sure. But Robb could only laugh. 

“That sounds like her, doesn’t it?” Robb moved to clap his hand on Theon’s shoulder, but the other man stepped back quickly, his head bowed. His voice was heavier than he liked. “Theon.” 

“Please, don’t,” Theon said, his hands shaking at his side. “I can’t… I’m not--I don’t know how to be near you anymore.” 

“You were doing just fine before the Bolton men attacked you,” Robb replied, stamping the emotion from his voice.  _ Hide it under the anger he’s left you with since the day you saw the shame in his eyes after fucking him raw. After you sent him away and his betrayal was the first of many. _ “Why are you doing this? After everything you’ve done, why is it me you punish?” 

His eyes shone in the light, agony brighter than the fire. “Punish you? I’m help--I’m not your prisoner anymore, Robb. I’m not your ward. I’m not your hostage. I’m… I’m someone else’s.”

Theon dropped his bow to the ground and collapsed on the bales of hay stacked for targets, his head in his heads. He could not look at Robb any longer and Robb couldn’t stop staring. 

“You’ll be King again, Stark. You’re facing an enemy like we’ve never seen before. You can’t just forgive me. You can’t just make it like it was before. My burnt body should be hanging from the gates of Winterfell. And he’s here. He’s  _ always  _ here _.  _ Every noise, every shadow, every man I see, he always has me. If you touched me now, I would see him.”  

_ Ramsay. _

“Theon,” Robb began, sitting next to him on the hay. He ignored the hammering of his heart in his ears. “Then why are you out here, retaking the bow? Teaching Sansa, too, I suspect.”

His lip trembled and he shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

“You do.” 

“I let you die once,” he breathed, eyes wide and drinking in Robb’s stare. “You were always right about me. But I thought… It isn’t fair to want you as I do, not after what I’ve done. But I can die with a sword and a bow in my hand for you, as I should have died for you at the Twins.” 

Robb tried to remember his breath. From the time they were children until he sent Theon away, he always looked at Robb hoping for something. He had been a fool not to know it then, that Theon had been seeking his love long before they brushed their lips together. And every time, Robb had held something back, some fault, some reason that he was not good enough for his family.  _ If I could love him, truly and fully, then I could no longer accept my father’s duty, my duty, that I might one day have to take his head.  _

“I sent you away just as much for myself as for the war, to spare me the duty of taking your head one day. To spare me from wanting what I should not want. I didn’t want you to come back without those ships,” Robb admitted. He rubbed his clenched jaw to hide the pain on his face. “You may not have had iron shackles, but you were shackled all the same. I led you around when I wanted you and pushed you away when I couldn’t bear it any longer. We were all just pieces in Robert’s game to keep his throne, and everyone paid the price.” 

Theon lowered his gaze, sniffed and rubbed his face with his gloved hand. “I hate that you’re apologizing to me. You’re too fucking virtuous for your own good.” 

“Then let me be a selfish cunt and have you, and damn everything to the seven hells,” Robb let the words free. “I won’t touch you, but I need you. I can’t help the North without you at my side.”

Theon turned at looked at him then, his brow furrowed. “How…”

“You’re the best damn archer I’ve ever seen. The Dothraki can’t ride their horses into the snows that are coming. The cold makes them shake, even the best I saw today. It has to be you when I present my plan tomorrow.”

He expected further argument, a demand to know his plans, perhaps. But Theon raised his head and nodded. Robb stood and held his hand out to Theon, a small smile gracing his lips. They were freezing and draped in leather and fur, but he swore he could feel the heat from Theon’s skin. After a beat, Theon clasped his hand to Robb’s.

\---

“If my plan works, we won’t need armies to stop the Night King. We just need arrows.” 

“Arrows?” Arya asked, intrigued. 

“A few skilled archers, two dragons, and Valyrian steel,” he continued, pointing out the suspected movements of the army, as much as the crow’s eye could see before Bran returned back to his own body. “Arya was right. Every man we send is going to bolster their forces. Two archers on the back of a dragon to slay the White Walkers who command the baser creatures. Her Grace has seen they will fall without their commander.”

“And the other dragon?” asked Tyrion. 

“Her Grace, Jon and I will fly on the largest dragon. We have to slay the captured dragon and the Night King.”

As he predicted, the room erupted into disagreement. He was told his plan was madness and he agreed. He spoke of dragon glass arrowheads and that the time for caution died when the first dragon fell. Daenerys opposed slaying her former dragon, but was calmed by Jorah and Jon. They were falling to his side. The plan was mad, but swords in the hands of greenboys was not going to save the North and the majority of Dothraki bloodriders were too far South still with the Unsullied. He scarcely listened for how he stared at Theon, standing silently behind his sister, watching the argument. 

“We’ll do it,” Daenerys said with a note of finality. “Some of the best archers are among the Dothraki. I will summon them in the morning.” 

Robb shook his head and Daenerys raised a brow. 

“Theon,” Robb said. All heads turned toward Theon, who glanced away when he noticed their eyes on him. 

Lady Yara said then, “My brother grew up with a bow in his hand; I have seen him shoot birds in flight with seven fingers. He practices in your godwoods each night.”

“Lord Greyjoy doubts his strength for the bow, but I, too have seen it,” Sansa added with a nod. Theon blinked at them both before staring back at Robb. 

“Let him do it,” Arya said finally. “He owes the family.”

“I know him,” Robb said with certainty, meeting Theon’s eyes.  “Theon can do this.” 

Theon’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat, a bead of sweat on his brow. The attention of the most powerful people in Westeros and beyond were on him. He nodded sharply. “I can do it.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon, Robb, Jon and Dany go to battle.

_ He lifted her bow arm and leaned in close. Sansa always smelled sweet. Even when she was locked in her bridal tower, Ramsay kept her clean, flower oils in her hair and at her neck. She had come to Theon and said she was not going to stand by unarmed again. “Remember, it’s not your harp. Pluck it like the strings of an instrument and you’ll pull to the side. Pull your hand straight back.” _

_ She loosed the arrow, her brow furrowed in concentration. When it stuck just outside center, she beamed at him with bright eyes. “Did you see?” _

_ He gave her a small, closed-lipped smile. He did not like to smile so much these days, but Sansa brought it from him. Robb, too, when Theon wasn’t pretending he did not see Robb’s stare each day. “I did.” _

_ Theon had just nocked his own arrow when Sansa asked suddenly, “Would you marry me?” _

_ An odd noise and an awkward  _ thwak _ ; an arrow landed on the corner of the target. Theon lowered his bow and gaped at her.  _ She’s gone mad, hasn’t she? The thought of the walking dead has driven her to madness.  _ “Wh-what? I...” _

_ She carefully nocked an arrow and drew herself into form. “One marriage unconsummated, and I fed my second husband to his hounds. My prospects are no longer good. Even Lady Mormont mocked me.”  _

_ “Any lord would be lucky to be near you,” Theon carefully raised her arm, adjusted her aim and mumbled against her ear, “You deserve a real man at your side, not… not me.” _

_ “What about Robb?” _

_ “Sansa,” he said, tired. She would not give him a moment’s peace on the matter, but how could he explain it? Robb needed a lady, not a ruined man. For all their hidden touches, for Robb’s fingers exploring every inch of his scarred flesh, he had not allowed Robb to take him again, the way he had on that war table a lifetime ago. He could not. Robb would grow bored of his flinching and cringing, of his hesitation to be fucked, of his terror at every shadow.  _ Of the memory of my betrayal.

_ She loosed the arrow, hand straight back. Sansa hit too high of center, but she hit within the circle. “And Jon is taken now, too.”  _

_ “Do you mean to say  _ you _ want Robb now?” he scoffed slightly at her.  _

_ “I always wanted to be a Queen,” Sansa said coyly. Theon yanked the arrows from the target, shooting Sansa an uncertain glance and dropping them into her outstretched hand.  _

_ “As if you had not whispered into Daenerys’ ear about Jon to begin with. I saw you in her chambers. I saw them bring a bath.”  _

_ “You see too much these days,” she replied, not denying a thing of what he insinuated, mirth hiding in her words.  _

_ “You should be careful, playing with fire,” he cautioned. She pressed her back against him and the place between his legs ached. Theon shifted and leaned into her neck. Hers was the only touch he could stand. Anyone else, and he was Reek again, broken and sprawled on the ground, clenching broken teeth and tearing his nails into the dirt and grime until they finished with him. He wrapped his arms around her middle like she might disappear and she sighed, her breath disappearing into the night on a cloud. Her hands, covered in soft leather, hid his own. _

_ “I sold myself to Ramsay playing someone else’s game. I’m a Stark of Winterfell. I’m going to defend my home,” she said resolutely, her body tensing against his. He rocked her gently, soothing them both.  _

_ “I know,” he whispered against her. “I know what it’s like; how they can’t know, that it’s not right, but you want it anyway.”  _

_ “Then marry me,” she said, hesitant. “I’m safe with you. And you’d understand if I didn’t want…” _

_ He straightened and startled at the anger that rose up in him. Rage had been at clawing at him in odd moments since the Bolton men seized him outside the Great Hall. There had been a time when nothing would have made him happier.  _ Finally, a Stark, a true son.  _ Now it was a cruel jape. But he could never speak it against her. Once, he would have, but now it died as fast as it came. “You shouldn’t think such things.” _

\-----------------------

“Now, where were we?” Ramsay drawled, his favorite blade drawing a red smile across his belly. Oh, how he wished the screaming would stop, for just a moment. It was so loud and sharp in his ears and the cut, it  _ stung.  _ “Ah, what is your name?”

“Reek!” he said too quickly, too high. His name wasn’t Reek, it was Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon, heir to the Iron Islands. But what did it matter? Ramsay would not kill him, and no one was coming for him.  _ ‘Send your boxes. My sons are dead.’  _ Theon dared not breathe until he saw the madman’s reaction.

Lord Ramsay smiled, tapping the flat of the blade against his palm. “Very good, Reek.”

His heart thumped in his chest. Good, he did good. He let out his breath, relieved, and tried to rest his head on his arm. This was no man before him, it was some sort of monster in human skin. For a moment, he saw sharp fangs and almost screeched in terror. His body twitched and trembled at all hours fearing Ramsay’s return. He blinked to clear his blurred vision and how he desperately wished Robb would order his execution.  _ Take me to the block and let my head roll. Please, Robb, make it stop. I’m starting to think my name really  _ is  _ Reek. What do you need to hear, please?   _

Theon realized he was sobbing and Lord Ramsay gave his head a shake, fat fingers caressing his neck. “Robb Stark. But you betrayed him, Reek, why do you cry for him?”

“Let him kill me, please. Let me die. He’d never… never let me live. He… wouldn’t torture me. He wouldn’t.”

“Are you sure about that, Reek?” And Lord Ramsay scented the secrets he kept, the things he had never told anyone. He knew  _ everything _ and Theon was callow boy to ever think he was a clever liar. The world blinked in and out and only the sharp draw of the blade sending white hot pain through his nerves kept him present. A figure moved behind Ramsay, a small crown on his head.  _ Robb, he’s here. He means to make me tell it all again before Robb. He lies, he’ll tell Robb lies about it and, and...  _ What if he already had? What if Robb thought his brothers really were slain?

“Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t, I didn’t kill them. I love you, I swear it. Please.” 

Ramsay looked over his shoulder and turned back with a predator’s grin. “That’s it, isn’t it? You sucked Robb Stark’s cock like the whore you are, didn’t you?” 

“No, no, no…” he lied. He lied.  _ He will know!  _

“Did you let Robb Stark bugger you in his war tent; let his big wolf cock tear into your iron ass?” Ramsay whispered against his ear and Theon wanted to vomit. Had he eaten in days, he might have.  _ Damn this bastard. Damn him.  _ Ramsay’s laugh sounded like his blades, sharp and cruel. “I should have let my boys rape you in the woods. You may have enjoyed it.” 

“No, no, please, no... “ he begged. He knew everything, but  _ this,  _ this was not something anyone could know. If anyone knew that Robb had… they would revolt. 

“Are you trying to make me jealous, Reek?” Ramsay teased, eyes alight with amusement. He was paralyzed by fear, his chest seizing. Ramsay stroked the healing wound between Theon’s open legs gently, and he squirmed. “Did you beg him to come inside you like a maid? Did you like it when he did?”

Theon opened his mouth to deny it, but Ramsay started to tear a strip from his belly while the ironborn screamed. “Lie to me again, and I’ll flay your whole belly.”

Robb stared at him from the shadows. Theon sobbed, “Yes. I… I liked it.” 

His leather ties fell away and he crashed to the floor with a sick slap. He could not stand if he tried, but he weakly rolled to his side, staring up at those ice eyes. Ramsay’s gaze was unblinking and focused. “Good. But I can’t have you crying out for Robb Stark.”

Ramsay laid a hand on his belt, and Robb was nowhere to be seen. Wet earth and mold filled his nostrils and he imagined himself overgrown with rotted roots and decayed leaves, a part of the floor, where Ramsay could walk over him forever but never hurt him. “Robb Stark has a wolf for a pet. But you’re no wolf, are you? Wolves are brave, strong.”

_ Father said my time with the wolves made me weak _ , he thought, curling into himself. He was too weak to even stand, let alone fight back.  _ I was only a boy. Where could I have gone? No one would help me. Not as a boy, not as their Prince. _

“You’re weak! Untrained. An ungrateful dog biting the hand that fed it, never strong enough to lead the pack. Somehow you just didn’t learn your place. You could be a fine bitch at my side, stomach in the dirt where you belong, tail between your legs,” Ramsay grinned, looking down on Theon, leather sliding between his palms.  “Subservient and loyal. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Never a decision too hard for our slow, unwanted pup. Just the chance to please.”

He looked up at Ramsay in awe of the truth he had always tried to escape.  _ He knows what I am, a dog my father didn’t want.  _ Ramsey knelt beside him, staring him down. “It’s what every good dog wants. A place at his Master’s side, rewarded for loyal service.” 

_ He wants me. _ This madman would cut away every last part of him.

“Now, who is your Master?” 

Theon licked his bottom lip, averting his eyes. “Lord Ramsay.” 

“What is your name?”

_ It rhymes with freak. _

\--He woke from the night terror with a strangled scream, sweat soaking through his nightshirt.  _ Do you love me, Reek? _ Theon stumbled to the smoking coals and stoked the fire, fearful of the darkness. He added a log, then another. Anything to keep the shadows at bay.  _ He’s watching me. Somehow he’s watching me.  _

He pressed against the wall and stared into the dark. Winterfell, he was in his room in Winterfell. Ramsay was dead. Theon was getting better, healing. Robb was here, too, alive, forgiven him even. Theon nodded to himself, steadying his frayed nerves.

His sister no longer feared he was mad. She had beaten Arya Stark in the fingerdance, despite the girl’s talent for much anything she did that could kill. They had helped him sneak about so he would not be seen by mocking soldiers. At first he had been too weak to even hold the bow straight without his whole arm taking to tremors. They forced him to eat extra portions of meat, made him carry his weight in anything they could find. Sansa even made him knit and sew to steady his trembling hands.  _ I’m safe here, for the night, at least.  _

Now he was to ride a dragon and put arrows in the eyes of White Walkers. Theon looked at his hands as he sat, ignoring the soot on his knees. They shook the way they always did after a dream of Ramsay Bolton.  _ Robb trusts me to do this.  _ Theon rather thought he shouldn’t. 

It would be easier if Robb had just beheaded him and moved on with his life, but he had the misfortune of being Ned Stark’s honorable son and Robb took pity on him.  _ Seven fingers. These fingers bled a thousand times learning the bow and the sword. They stroked a dozen cunts, held twice as many breasts, and stroked the cocks of two kings.  _ It was his cock they all joked about, but it was his hands that ached in the winter air, his missing fingers that itched when he could not hold spoon nor dirk.  _ You can only cut a man’s cock off the once, but there are ten fingers to peel and cut.  _ He had watched his hands like the sands of an hour glass and secretly thought, maybe he’ll kill me when I’ve none left.  _ It was my fingers that made me a man, when I killed that wildling for Bran. I’ve still seven left.  _

Theon wiped the wetness from his cheeks and inched closer to the fire, trying to focus on the parts he had left. The wind howled at his window and the sound terrified him.  _ It sounds like the girls on the hunt.  _ At dawn, he would fly and he would be at war again, at Robb’s side. It had been years since he’d seen a battle.  _ He’s laughing at me. Ramsay would be fearless. Robb will be scared. Jon, too. But Ramsay doesn’t feel fear. It would all be a jape to him.  _ He was wroth to admit it, but Ramsay was strong. Stronger than Theon. 

_ “You don’t answer to kings or wolves. You answer to your Master,” Ramsay grunted between Theon’s cries, their flesh slapping noisily. “Say it.” _

He stared at his hands.  _ Seven fingers left. That’s plenty.  _ Theon swallowed and whispered to his ghost, “No.”

\------

The winter air was dry and crisp, biting his lungs and it reminded him he was alive. Despite the cold, the sun shone brightly. They would have little cloud cover today, but Theon was glad to see the sun. He steeled his nerves with ale at breakfast, feasted with the ironborn, and his sister pulled him in close to kiss his forehead. Sansa caught him later, slipped her hands around his waist and embraced him from behind. 

“Theon,” Robb greeted with a solemn smile. The dragons lay beyond the open gate, sounds alone that should rattle the dead. Daenerys was already waiting atop Drogon and Jon was finding his footing to join her. 

Theon’s eyes lingered too long on Robb. “Say it again.”

Robb chuckled and laid a hand on his shoulder, drawing him closer. He leaned in, their foreheads gently meeting. “Theon. Now and always.” 

\-----

Tears leaked from his eyes at the sting of the icy wind, his heart caught soundly in his throat. Never could he have imagined that flying would be like  _ this.  _ His clumsy hands clutched desperately at the dragon’s spines, as if they were the reigns of a horse. Theon felt dizzy as great trees passed in a blur, small as lambs. The part of him that freezes at every sudden noise was terrified, his stomach jumping and flipping. But the other part, the boy who raced across the creaking, swaying bridges of Pyke without a fear in the world, was filled with the thrill of excitement beyond compare. For a moment, he felt a true ironborn, drunk and singing from the heady rush of a battle coming, from the danger of it all. To feel to  _ alive _ in the face of something greater than you, a sea with depth and power beyond imagine: that is what it meant to be _ ironborn _ . 

His blood rushed in his veins, the high of approaching an enemy, and Theon almost laughed. Had he been the man before, he might have. His nerves sung of worry. A Dothraki man clung behind him, a string of foreign curses sucked into the wind. His bow pressed into his back, his arrows at his side. This was important. For some terrible reason, they trusted him to save them. 

As the dragon leaned downward, dark figures emerged from the white. A shuffling hoard, even a giant among them. And he could not  _ stop  _ seeing them - they spanned the whole horizon, thousands and thousands of them. He heard the Dothraki’s disbelief and felt the tension in the man behind him as he let out a war cry that swelled in his heart, terrifying and proud.  _ They called them savages in Essos, like the Westerosi called us. We are brothers.  _

_ “Robb!” Theon shouted in the din, eyes wide, deaf from the metal screeches and death yells. Robb, he couldn’t see him! Theon had fallen from his horse in the midst of battle, blocking some cocksucking Lannister cur from driving his sword into his armor as he scrambled to his feet. There was nothing graceful about this. It was a chaotic blur, no thought, only instinct. Men screamed and died around him but he looked for each opening, swinging his sword toward any Lannister armor he thought he saw. A black blur and he whirled around, something catching his cheek - a fist, a shield, he could not say. He didn’t even feel it as he pressed on. Robb. He had to find him.  _

The dragon seemed of the same mind as the Dothraki when a dark shape appeared in the sky, casting a wide shadow over the shuffling hoard. The dragon screeched and wailed at the sight of its brother turned. Theon twisted his gaze to Drogon, their cries shaking his bones, and saw three figures on his back. He swallowed as the dragon he flew peeled to the right, leaving Drogon flying straight at the dead dragon.  _ They must survive.  _ He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Robb again and had he more time before the ice lances caused his dragon to take a rolling dive to the left, he would have thought more on why Jon was also in his thoughts. He bared down on the scaled beast with all his strength as fire erupted into the air, a sound protest at the dead’s assault. Dozens of them burned in moments, their screeches something from another world, sharper than even Ramsay’s knives. 

He strained to find Drogon, hearing the dragon roar, the echo of Jon or Robb’s screams in the wind. As the dragon lowered its wing, he saw them. Daenerys was still riding atop Drogon, orange fire lighting the sky - it clashed against blue and Theon realized the  _ other  _ dragon, the dead one, its fire was  _ blue. Where are they? No… they can’t have-- _

The Dothraki shoved him from behind and he saw the man already drawing his bow. Theon nodded, trying to steady his hand, shoving Robb and Jon from his mind. The rolling of the dragon dodging spears from below, the wind biting at his face... this plan was the craziest fucking idea Robb Stark has ever had, and Theon was madder for agreeing. Theon could not understand the man behind him, but he followed his aim to see a half rotted horse carrying a figure with white hair and blue eyes that glowed in the frozen North. Another was a few yards away.. _. Be Theon. Be ironborn. Draw. Draw.  _

His bow was in his hand, the arrow nocked. Theon only waited for an opening between the beats of the dragon’s wings. The Dothraki missed the White Walker, hitting a wight in the eye and knocking his head almost clean off.  _ Breathe. It’s just a game, like the targets at home.  _ He shook his head when he thought he saw Ramsay atop the horse.  _ Breathe.  _

His first arrow missed, as well, sending the dead horse rearing and knocking the White Walker to the ground. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, grabbing another arrow as the White Walker examined his threat, a lance of ice already in his hand.  _ Hurry, hurry.  _ Just as he was about to loose his arrow, the dragon pitched and screeched, sending Theon so hard into its scale the air knocked right out of him. Gasping for breath, he saw an open wound on the wing - a frozen lance grazed the creature. Without thinking, he shouted at the dragon, “I need to shoot him or we’re to join them!”

He was not sure if the beast understood him, but it seemed to roar in complaint, burning everything it could reach with its fire. Yet it rounded about, leaving a clear shot for him. Without hesitation, Theon let an arrow fly. Mayhaps it did not realize the arrowhead was dragon glass, for it seemed only to watch as the arrow burrowed into its chest. He waited with bated breath as the seconds crawled by…  _ Come on, come on… _

Like a glass dropped to the stone, it shattered suddenly as if it was made of ice and snow. Only moments later, the stumbling, shuffling creatures behind it burst into bones and rags. Not just one or two, but  _ hundreds of them _ , maybe even a thousand or more _.  _ They fell in a great wave, the rest of the hoard paused in the confusion. 

Screaming caused him to jump and he realized that he was on fire. Blue, blue everywhere. The ice dragon, it had turned its attention to them. He smelled the burning leather at his left arm and clamped his other hand down upon it, smothering it out. But he was falling then, ripped from his place on the back of the dragon. The Dothraki rider was burned alive, what little of his strength left pulling Theon down with him. Desperately, he kicked at the man, trying to let him fall, half of his body nothing but ash in the wind. The dragon seemed to know of his troubles as it dodged blue fire, it pitched to the left, throwing Theon back into his scales. He stuttered, scrambling to steady himself, “T-thank you.”

That’s when he saw it. 

Robb and Jon were both atop the ice dragon. Jon had his sword raised, blocking the Night King’s own and they wrestled on the back of the great dragon. And Robb, Robb was hacking his father’s sword into the dragon’s neck, struggling to get through its scaled armor.  _ Ice on ice… that sword, that terrifying sword must win.  _

Redetermined, Theon turned back to the army of the dead. The White Walkers he could see, at least three, were drawing lances. “We’ll take out the three there! Watch for their lances!”

Why he spoke to the dragon, he could not say, but he sensed an intelligence there. Theon cursed, finding his quiver half emptied of arrows. He had better shoot true then. The dragon swooped low to burn its foes and Theon lined up another shot. As he loosed his arrow, so loosed the lance from the White Walker. Theon barely reared back in time, the lance almost taking off his head. He dared not look back to see if his arrow missed; he had other enemies to kill. Four more arrows loosed and he had removed two more White Walkers. As he turned back to the one who had almost skewered him, he saw half the creature blowing to snow in the wind. Theon laughed aloud. 

His dragon wailed and Theon saw Drogon cut in, getting between him and the Ice dragon. Theon strained to catch what happened. Robb had regained his footing and Theon could see it, the moment that Robb realized he could not penetrate the armor from above. The softness at the side of its neck was just out of reach, a large hole from where the dragon was felled the first time. If he meant to drive his sword deep into the creature, he would need to jump. Robb would surely fall to reach it, but that is exactly what he did. 

Time seemed to slow to a winter’s still as Theon watched Robb twist and fall, a warrior’s cry as he held the sword above his head and plunged it into the dragon. The sound was more awful than any other he had ever heard. A thousand devils screaming, pricking out his eardrums and sending them all into oblivion. But then, no more, the blue in its eyes went out and Drogon’s bright fire consumed it. Theon could do nothing as Robb, Jon and the Night King fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, the struggle on how to work through all the enemies while focusing on all the romantic drama is real. I hope it treats you alright. And Sansa, you saucy girl.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too rushed, just trying to get some more chapters out before Season 8 destroys my heart. More action/adventure this time.
> 
> Your comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading. :)

_Yara placed an arm across the door frame, a smirk on her lips. “Your Grace.”_

_Daenerys tilted her chin upward to look at the ironborn woman blocking her path. “Lady Greyjoy. You have something to tell me?”_

_She strode forward, standing too close, pulling their hips together and brushing her lips across Daenerys’ neck. The Queen gasped and sighed. “I know what you’re doing.”_

_“Do you?” Daenerys asked, leaning her head sideways, inviting her tongue to lick along the curve of her neck._

_“Playing with the Stark girl, does your new King know?”_

_“He knows of your hand slipping under my dress,” she hummed, biting her lip, spreading her legs. “It’s a political arrangement. When have the ironborn cared about such things?”_

_“You’re not the only one with a taste for the many fruits of life. I bet he would not mind if you invited Sansa to your marital bed. Or mayhaps his brother cousin, Robb. But then, you’d have to suffer my brother, too.” Yara laughed in her ear, letting her fingers walk the inside of her Queen’s thigh. “I don’t believe you. You care more than you show.”_

_Daenerys ignored her. “I assume you also came to tell me you’ve done as I’ve asked.”_

_Yara let her go, looking at her hard, appraisingly. “I’d have done it even if you hadn’t asked, but it is done.”_

_She should not tease the Dragon Queen so, but Yara did not mind being scolded, not by her. Yara heard footsteps in the hall and she saw it was Samwell Tarly turning the corner, the fat crow who healed her brother. She clapped him on the shoulder. “Tarly. I hope you’re not here to avenge your family.”_

_He likely did not deserve such a thing, but it took her strength not to slit the throats of the men she remembered at Pyke, the day her father ruined their family. He sputtered like a fish on her hook and glanced away, but he replied evenly, “I’ve found what we’ve been looking for.”_

_Daenerys straightened and her eyes fell on the book under his arm. “Very well.”_

\------------

“No!” Theon screamed as the flaming beast plummeted below. He leaned in and yelled at the dragon. “Save them!”

But it only bellowed and burned the screeching dead below. His blood boiled and Theon began to pound on its neck, cursing at it. The sudden shaking of its head almost sent him flying. When he looked again, Daenerys was flying toward the falling beast, swooping in close. As they tumbled, Theon could see little. After what felt like an eternity, Drogon peeled away, Jon clinging at Drogon’s neck as Daenerys struggled to keep him aloft. The dead dragon crashed into the snow, crushing a dense pack of the wights beneath it. He tried to ignore the sound of bones crunching. But Robb… Where was he?

As the dragon lifted air into its wings to pull higher into the sky, two figures emerged dangling from the dragon’s large claws. _Robb._ He was clutching desperately to the dragon’s foot, the Night King clawing himself up Robb’s legs, far too easily for any mere man. It was otherworldly how he moved and Theon thought of every terrible tale he had ever heard of monsters as a child. Robb stared down at his foe.

“Oh… no, no, no,” Theon groaned, knowing the look etched into Robb’s face. “Don’t do it, you noble fuck!”

Robb drew a dragon glass knife from his belt and made to strike the blue monster in the face, but as The Night King clutched Robb’s middle with one arm, he caught Robb’s wrist in the other. Robb was no weak child, but he seemed no match for the dead king. The battle was already lost.

And then, Robb let go of the dragon.

The whistle of something piercing air caught his ear and Theon dropped flat against the back of the scaled beast. Two lances soared above his head. White Walkers, they had gathered and refocused their attack. Theon nocked another arrow and felled the only one he could reach at this range. A legion behind him fell.

“Please, you have to catch them!” Theon begged as the dragon turned its flame upon the Walkers. But as he looked below, he saw that six of the frozen men had gathered together and with the thrust of their arms, a great swirl of snow and wind seemed to come from nowhere, meeting the dragon flame. In a cloud, fire and ice disappeared.

Theon stared with wide eyes, unbelieving. _They stopped a dragon’s fire. It took only six of them. For how many we killed, there are still thousands more._ Realizing that its flame was wasted, Rhaegal roared and tore away, staying low and soaring toward Robb. _Where was the Night King?_ Perhaps Daenerys had meant to kept all the riders safe. Theon was overwhelmed by the size of the remaining army. Thousands of them fell when the Walkers did, but somehow the enemy was still coming. He could not kill them all. He had not the arrows left to do it. Theon swore at himself. _The Dothraki, when he fell… Why had I not grabbed his quiver from his corpse?_

Drogon screeched high and angry, and Theon saw the dragon dip and fall. _Another lance. We have to get out of here._ Robb was so close to the ground now, Theon did not believe Rhaegal would make it in time, not with these damn lances. But Rhaegal swept low to the left, just underneath Robb and just in time for a lance to tear its wing, dark blood steaming in the air. His stomach felt like it was in his throat as Robb barreled into the dragon’s skin, rolling off and into a giant pack of snow; meanwhile, Rhaegal screamed, landing heavily on its feet, sinking deep in the frozen white. The impact felt like falling from the top of Winterfell’s ramparts, the air gone from his chest, his ears humming like angry bees.

Suddenly he was cold, snow freezing his cheek. Theon coughed, unsure of which way was up or how to stand. Finally, the world stopped its tipsy spinning and Theon stumbled to his feet in time to see Rhaegal take to the air to flee the advancing enemy. _Robb._

He spun, thanking the gods, old and new, for landing among the piles of rotting flesh and bone and not among those that still walked. The smell was horrid, even in the ice. _Even I never smelled so foul._ Theon stumbled and scooped up his bow. Amongst the rags, he found arrows rotted into fractured pieces. _Of course._

Taking his last two arrows, Theon sprung in the direction he had last seen Robb. It was back toward where he had felled the first Walkers. Kicking bones and armor, he staggered and jumped through the smoldering dead. The dragon fire had spread from corpse to corpse, causing them to scatter the area he walked. Where was Robb in all this? He had hit the snow. Something moved in the piles, something trying to rise. Theon nocked his bow and approached, trying not to listen to the deafening sounds around them. He could not stop to pause or breath or think. If he did, he would be dead, frozen solid in his terror at sounds not meant for this world.

“Try not to shot me in the back this time,” a bitter voice grumbled, and Theon dropped his bow, relief making him dizzy.  

He fell into the bones to help Robb stand. “You’re hurt?”

“Forget about that, we have to get out of here,” Robb slurred, his head drooping. His arm was mauled open and he was losing blood fast. Theon cursed and leant him to the ground. “I have to stop this.”

Theon tried to slow his frantic breathing at the sight of Robb’s bloodied arm. So many nightmares of Robb’s death. Robb haunted him in the dark and he screamed and cried while the hounds howled. _He’ll… he’ll find us. He’ll find us. It’s not safe out of here._

“Theon,” Robb said firmly and Theon only nodded. “Go, leave me, I’ll only slow you down,”

Theon ignored him and tore his belt from his body, abandoning his sword and taking only his dragon glass axe. Theon tore away at the pieces of Robb’s armor that impeded his efforts and slipped the belt around his arm. Robb screamed in pain as Theon cinched it tight.

“That’s an order from your King, Theon!”

Theon grabbed Robb’s face with both hands and looked him in the eye, the eyes of a Tully, honorable and stupid. He ignored the blood that smeared Robb’s dirtied cheeks. “I’m not leaving you. Take my head, if you want.”

Robb stared at him and for a moment the world became silent and white, only the look Robb held in his blue eyes reached Theon. He gave a stiff nod, throwing his good arm around Theon’s neck. When the screams of the dead and dragons alike returned, Theon was already shambling with Robb toward the tree line. A great cloud of white swirled in around them and Theon felt the cold seep into his bones as he made to turn around. _They’ve found us._

The group of White Walkers approached them, their eyes too bright and frigid. Theon set Robb to the ground and pulled an arrow, the Walker managing to knock it from the air -- but not before he had loosed a second that pierced his neck. He shattered and fell. Five walked on and Theon reached back only to find his quiver empty. Robb kicked his leg and nodded for his help. Theon aided him to stand, their eyes meeting, understanding. Robb shakily pulled his dagger, his sword lost in the ice dragon.

“This is it,” Robb said solemnly. “Together, then.”

A sense of peace fell over him that Theon had never felt before, belonging, acceptance. He had long since given up the illusion of control and now he would face his death as he always should have, at Robb’s side. “Always.”

His grip tightened on his axe and as they raised their weapons, Theon closed his eyes, ready. He cried out, a warrior’s sound, and pressed forward with Robb at his side, their screams lost in the air. And then--

A howl.

All who could hear it turned their heads, with just enough time for the largest wolf he had seen since Grey Wind to land on the chest of a White Walker, a dark form leaping from its back.

“Arya!” Robb exclaimed, falling to his knees, staring. A pack of wolves knocked them to the ground in their haste, snapping and tearing at the White Walkers, led by what Theon saw was a direwolf. _Could it be the wolf that got away? Nymeria?_

Theon had never seen anything like Arya battling in the snow. She had a dagger in one hand and a thin sword in the other. She dodged and twisted away from the Walker she engaged, playing with it as though it were a dance. “Get out of here while you can. I’ll hold them off!”

“How?!” Robb hollered at her, and Theon wondered if they saw the same thing. Arya flipped as though no force kept her on this earth at all, her movements quick and precise. No extra movement was wasted. The trampling of horses found his ear and Theon swirled around to see it, two small bands of armored soldiers and Dothraki cloaked in heavy furs, all riding the sturdiest horses Winterfell had to offer.

Brienne, he recognized, and the Kingslayer rode side by side. Further on, he saw the Band of Brothers, knights that haunted his night terrors as a child, the flaming sword breaking through the towers at Pyke. Two women, he recognized as Ellaria Sands’ daughters. Even The Hound was there.

Arya whistled and the direwolf retreated, leaving three White Walkers. Just then, arrows rained from the sky, Arya hurrying them both out of the way. Somehow they had shields at the ready and more dead were already pouring in. Arrows continued from the riders in the back and the group, hardly 100 men charged ahead.

Theon dragged Robb away from the battle, failing to keep up with the wolves, but struggling to put some distance between them and the hoard. He had to get Robb somewhere safe, but how? All the bowsmen were busy, all the soldiers had charged. Even Arya had disappeared to return to the fight. But something odd happened to a horse that lost an unlucky soldier to a Walker. It turned and ran from the battle, as a frightened horse might, but it veered straight toward Theon and Robb. Breaking away from the dead, the horse galloped straight up to them, calm and controlled.

“Bran?” Robb asked the horse, skeptical. Theon could swear the horse nodded its head and kneeled to get Robb atop him. For the second time, Theon thought they might actually get out of here alive. Once Robb was mounted, he beckoned for Theon to join him.

Just as a few of the stray wights were to reach them, Theon swung himself over the horse. “Go! Go now!”

Leaping away, the horse rode back a distance toward a clearing. Drogon was near enough and Rhaegal was regrouping, seeming to come for the fallen riders. As they cleared the top of the ridge, they saw it.

Jon and the Night King were in dire battle, and the Night King was winning. Jon’s sword clashed against the Night King’s with force and fury. _He must have fallen from the dragon like Robb,_ Theon thought. _Now they’re battling still._

“He’ll be killed,” Robb realized.

Theon countered, “He’s holding his own.”

But that was not what Robb meant. Theon followed his gaze and watched Daenerys’ face change, as if tears were in her eyes, saddened but determined. Drogon dropped low, just above the ground, its wings almost knocking Jon and the dead king to the ground.

With a strangled cry and eyes squeezed shut, she yelled, “Dracarys!”

Horrified, they watched as flames leapt from the dragon’s throat, engulfing Jon and The Night King both. Rhaegal joined from above, doubling the fire.

“Jon…” Robb whispered, clutching the reigns of the horse.

When the flames burned no more, Theon could see where the ice met fire, a jagged formation of shining black glass. On one side, The Night King stood, shielded and unharmed. _Jon. What happened to Jon?_

Theon realized he was not breathing; he was still as stone while the powdery cloud blew away.

“I don’t believe it.”

Theon glanced from Robb to the spot where Jon should be. _Was._ Jon uncrouched from the ground, his steel blade risen high, a bright flame emanating from the sword and his furs burned away. Jon stared at his blade in awe for a moment before turning his attention back to the Night King. The latter had retreated twenty paces, his arms raised.

Cold winds, strong and fierce, blew in and they could hardly see anything. But through the frost, he saw dead wolves risen, giant chunks of flesh torn away, bone peeking through their fur. They launched toward Jon.

“Retreat!” Robb yelled, startling Jon. Rhaegal landed atop the wolves and crushed them to bone. Jon touched the beast with a sudden reverence and before Theon could make sense of what happened, Jon had taken off on Rhaegal and Daenerys on Drogon. Fire blasted a line between the surviving Winterfell soldiers and the dead, allowing them retreat.

The Night King was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
